


The Price of Fame, or, The Cane Mutiny

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Brothers, Caning, Deception, Discipline, Eating Disorders, Family Drama, John Winchester’s A+ parenting, Manipulation, Other, Punishment, Spanking, plot heavy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2020-04-06 07:04:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 140
Words: 242,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19057678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Castiel Novak, world-famous pianist and composer, is planning a new world tour with two fresh-faced musicians: violinist Dean Winchester, and cellist Sam Winchester. Novak's career has been on the decline for a while, and he hopes that having two handsome young men join him onstage in a trio will help bring him a fresh audience and renewed acclaim.Such fame doesn’t come cheap, however, and Dean is a huge risk to the success of the tour with his poor behavior and tendency to get arrested and find trouble everywhere he goes. So Novak makes him sign a contract agreeing that he'll be punished for any mistakes onstage.Dean regrets signing the damned thing after their very first concert. But the fame and money are just too much to give up. More importantly, he doesn't want to let his brother down. They signed up for this 7-month world tour. A once-in-a-lifetime gig.The question is, can Dean handle it for that long?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is dark as hell, but not a “pointless abuse” fic and won't be graphic. Also, there’s no smut or Destiel.

Dean Winchester was nervous.

Extraordinarily anxious. Beyond a scale of one to ten. More like 47. Maybe 97.

Okay, a million.

“Dean!”

“What, Sam?”

“You’re gonna crush your damned violin. Relax.”

Dean loosened his grip, but his hands were so sweaty that he nearly dropped the precious instrument instead of crushing it to splinters.

“Dude!” Sam exclaimed as he shot out his hand to grab the slim neck, just barely managing to capture it and hold on tight.

“Shit! Thanks, man.”

Sam shook his head in shock and ran a hand through his unwieldy hair. “Okay, seriously. What the hell, Dean? You are _really_ freaking me out."

Dean turned to look at his frustrated brother, who had a death grip on his cello and was starting to sweat bullets as well. It was hot in the wings of the Kennedy Center Stage, and the auditorium was loud with the sounds of the sold-out crowd filling in the expensive seats.

“Sorry, Sam. Stage fright.”

“You’ve never had stage fright in your life!”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, well, we’ve never played the Kennedy Center, either. There’s a first time for everything.”

“Okay, well, time to get your shit together, because-”

They both stiffened as Castiel Novak appeared behind them and blocked out the glare of the blue backstage light. Neither one of them actually saw him; the clomping and heavy tread of the piano virtuoso’s feet was entirely unmistakable.

“Gents,” he grumbled deeply as he stopped within inches of them. Dean imagined he could feel the man breathing down his shirt and subconsciously squeezed the neck of his violin again, causing the strings to twang unpleasantly.

“Uh, yeah?” Dean blurted quickly.

“Sir?” Sam answered politely, throwing his brother dagger glares at the same time.

“Everything alright?” Novak asked, a hint of warning in his tone.

“F-f-fine, we’re good. You?”

Novak slowly stepped around the brothers to face them; his face was barely visible but his presence - as always - could have easily been felt in the pitch black. As it was now, it was almost overwhelming.

“Bows up when I give the signal this time. Not before. Remember who’s in charge, Dean.”

Dean swallowed hard and nodded; at the same time, the chimes from the Kennedy Center’s bell ringers were heard ringing across the concert hall. Five minutes.

Novak disappeared into curtains again, and Sam and Dean were alone.

“Jesus Christ. This was a bad idea, Sammy. Bad fucking idea.”

Sam laughed. “To book a world tour playing in a trio with Castiel Novak? THE Castiel Novak? Are you kidding me? And I thought you stopped having second thoughts about taking the literal chance of a lifetime. We will never be able to top this, probably ever.”

 _If I can’t get through this, I’m so fucking screwed._ Dean continued sweating profusely.

“A great fucking time to get stage fright, dude,” Sam added angrily. "I swear, if you mess up..."

“If I mess up, Sam, don't worry about a damned thing. Dude’s gonna have my ass.” _And I’m not even speaking metaphorically,_ he murmured to himself.

“Yeah, well, he'll have mine, too."

_No, not you. Not like that. I should have never fucking agreed to this._

Dean gulped, wiped his forehead with his chinrest cloth, and then looked over again at the little digital counter that was sitting on the Steinway. The one facing Dean’s chair directly, in a way that the audience and Sam could not see, but that Dean himself would be unable to ignore during the entirety of the concert.

“I repeat, Sam. A bad fucking idea.”

Sam huffed. “Well, I think you’re being a complete idiot. Tell you what. If you screw up, I’m gonna beat your ass, too."

“Shut up, bitch.”

“Jerk."

Dean wiped his forehead again. "Okay. I'm fine, Sam. Sorry. Just got a little-"

The lights went out in the house, and the concert hall fell instantly silent, along with the two brothers.

_Shit._

There was Castiel again, hovering impatiently next to them, looming large even in the blinding darkness. Dean couldn’t breathe.

The spotlight lit up to the piano bench, and Novak walked out to the rousing cheers and standing ovation accorded to one of the most famous pianists on the planet. Dean watched him move towards the edge of the stage, take a slight bow, move three steps back, take another slight bow, then turn to look at Sam and Dean. There was a slight eyebrow raise, and two more spotlights came up that pointed directly into the wings.

“Fuck me, I can’t do this,” Dean said out loud as he took his first steps onto the stage, feeling like a wobbly toddler might, while Sam followed close behind and urged him to smile.

More cheering. It was overwhelming; neither brother had ever experienced anything like it. All three men moved to the end of the stage and bowed together once, then twice. The audience hushed, and the trio took their seats. Sam pulled out the endpin of his cello and stuck it into the waiting puck, while the music turner took her place next to Castiel on the piano bench.

 _Just breathe._ Dean could hear his heart beating over the expectant silence as he tucked his violin under his chin, and at the worst possible moment - _just_ as Castiel lifted his eyebrows for the upbeat of the first note, Dean dropped his bow.

The audience gasped, of course. It was one of the worst things that could happen to a budding violinist on the world stage. Dean calmly picked it back up, then wiped his sweaty hands on his tuxedo. He wasn’t sure if his heart was still beating, but probably not. Sam was nearly vibrating in frustration beside him.

Dean took a deep, shaky breath and lifted his eyes to meet Novak’s, then he nearly faltered again as his eyes landed just below the man’s annoyed blue gaze.

The counter had changed to one.

Dean clenched his ass, then took a deep breath and lifted the bow over the strings again.

Unprompted.

_Two._

 


	2. Chapter 2

**SIX MONTHS EARLIER**

“Next up...Dean Winchester.”

Dean leaped up from his chair and dashed into the hallway. “Yes, sir, I’m here.”

“I see that,” said the bearded man, with zero trace of amusement. “I’m Mr. Novak’s manager, Chuck. Call me Mr. Shurley.”

Dean swapped his violin into his other hand and returned the man’s tight grip with an admittedly weaker handshake. _Ow. Break my fingers, why don’t you?_

“Mr. Shurley, it’s truly an honor to be given the opportunity to play for-”

“Yeah, save it. Everyone says that. Do you need to tune up?”

Dean quickly strummed all four strings, then slightly adjusted the fine tuner on one of them. When he was satisfied, he nodded. “I’m ready, Mr. Shur-”

“Good. Follow me.” They walked down the narrow hallway, and Chuck talked to Dean over his shoulder.

“What are you playing?”

“Bach’s partita number-”

“No partitas. He hates Bach.”

_Shit._

Dean scrambled to think of something solo with the appropriate difficulty. A piece he could pull out of his ass on the spot, that is. “Alright, well...has he got a grudge against Paganini, by any-”

“You know the caprices?”

Dean nearly cried in relief. “Yes, sir, number nine is my alternate-”

“Play that, then.”

Dean swallowed down his annoyance with effort and wondered bitterly if Mr. Shurley was ever going to let him finish a sentence. He decided to stop talking at that point, and just keep following behind silently. _Like a beaten-down dog_ , he muttered to himself.

“What was that?” Chuck asked quickly. “Never mind, here we are. Answer his questions in full, don’t read between the lines, don’t waste his time. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Chuck pushed a door open and Dean stepped through, painfully blinded by spotlights flooding the entire stage. He couldn’t see in the audience at all, it was just a black void. There was a chair in the middle of the stage. No music stand, not that it mattered. Dean had all of his audition pieces memorized.

“Are you just going to stand there gaping, or are you going to play?” said Novak’s voice from the shadows, over a microphone which was much too loud for the size of the room. Dean was reminded of that scene from “The Wizard of Oz” as he forced himself to walk towards the chair.

_Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain!_

“My apologies...my eyes are trying to adjust.”

“Bring the lights down to half,” Novak ordered. For a wild moment Dean looked around for a switch or something to pull to obey the command, but the lights suddenly went down by themselves. Of course he would have someone to do that for him, Dean realized numbly. This was a professional concert hall, after all.

Dean had reached the chair now, but he couldn’t decide whether to sit or stand.

“What are you playing for us?”

 _Us?_ Who else was present, Dean wondered. He peered into the audience again, and could make out four or five heads and shoulders. “Paganini’s Caprice number nine, sir. And, uh, thank you for bringing down the lights. May I proceed?”

“No. Sit down.”

Well, that answered that. Dean sat.

“How old are you?”

Dean cleared his throat. “26, sir.” He braced himself for some kind of veiled insult about his lack of experience at such a young age, but there was only silence again for several long moments.

“Why are you auditioning for this particular trio?” Novak finally asked.

 _Because I crave fame and fortune._ “Because the opportunity to tour with a pianist of your caliber was something I couldn’t possibly pass up,” he said simply, remembering Mr. Shurley’s directive to answer the man’s questions without wasting his time.

“And you have a brother named Sam Winchester.”

“Yes, sir.”

“He auditioned for me yesterday.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean breathed, hoping he remembered to put on deodorant this morning so that there were no sweat stains through his shirt.

“Do you know what he played?”

“Yes, sir. Kodâly’s Sonata in B minor.”

“Which movement?”

“Third movement of the eighth opus, sir,” replied Dean, trying to keep the wonder and curiosity out of his voice. Novak grunted in what seemed to be satisfaction, then curtly ordered Dean to play.

Dean settled his violin on his shoulder and tried to discreetly pick out the famous Castiel Novak in the audience. He couldn’t do it; they were all shadows without faces. So he took a deep breath and launched into the Paganini without any further adieu.

Less than twenty measures into the piece, he realized Novak was on stage with him, walking in slow circles around him. _Where the fuck did he come from_? Dean wondered. Perhaps he was never in the audience to begin with, but hovering backstage. God, that was weird.

Dean dug into his double stops and arpeggios with gusto, determined to win the strange man over. He ignored Novak altogether and just played as if his life depended on it. Which, in fact, it did. He’d been training for this kind of moment since he was old enough to play.

Normally, in an audition such as this - especially with such a short piece - the musician would be allowed to play until the end. Not this time. Novak stopped him harshly, and told him to start over from the beginning. Not do anything differently, just...start over. Dean did, and put more into it this time.

Then he stopped him again. And again. All while standing three feet away, watching intensely.

Dean set the violin upright on his knee the eighth time, and irritably refused to start over. “Sir, if there’s something you wish me to do differently, please tell me.”

“Not at all. I’m looking for expert consistency and grace under pressure. Both of which you lack.”

“Oh.” Dean’s heart fell like a cartoon anvil down a mineshaft. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Not to worry. They can be taught. You have potential. Let’s go to my office and talk.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Jesus Sam, you weren’t kidding,” Dean hissed into his cell phone. “This dude is intense.”

“Told you. How’d it go?”

“Well, he wants to talk to me. I’m waiting for his manager to leave his office. Novak asked me what you played for him. Like, quizzed me on it. Totally weird, right?”

“You told him it was the Kodâly?”

“Yeah.”

“So he’s probably just trying to figure out if we talked after my audition.”

Dean furrowed his eyebrows. “That’s a non-story. We’re brothers, of course we’re going to talk.”

“Did you notice the cardboard cutouts?”

“The what?”

Sam laughed. “The audience members were fake. Cardboard cutouts. Didn’t want to tell you because I thought it would freak you out.”

Dean returned the laughter, but something in his gut churned unpleasantly along with it.

“That explains why he blinded the hell out of me when I walked onstage. Didn’t want me to notice them. Dude, that’s...that’s bizarre, isn’t it?”

“You _think_?”

“My spidey senses are tingling so bad right now, Sammy. Should I leave?”

There was silence on the other line for a few beats.

“Just see what he has to say. I mean, we already knew he’s eccentric. We prepared for this.”

“Dude, this isn’t just eccentric. He’s-”

“Winchester.”

Dean hung up and jammed his phone into his pocket, and raced down the hall. Novak held the door open for him. In the past few minutes Dean had been picturing the office in his head. Gaudy awards jammed into every inch of space, pictures and newspaper clippings hogging the walls, perhaps a stale smell of cigars and whiskey. Dust everywhere, for certain. Maybe red velvet curtains.

Dean was surprised when he finally got a glimpse of the space. There was almost nothing in the room besides furniture, except a framed photograph of a beautiful young blonde teenager, and a plant on the floor near the window. Everything was blindingly modern, like a high-end IKEA showroom.

“I want you to play for me again.” Novak went behind his desk and sat down.

“In here, you mean?”

“No. On the fire escape.”

Dean looked out the window; they were on the ground floor. _Ah, sarcasm. Great._

“Right. Sorry. Same piece?”

Novak nodded, so Dean checked the tuning of his violin and got in position. This time he was able to play all the way through to the end, although the acoustics were absolutely terrible within the sterile, white square walls.

He couldn’t help but grimace as he finished off the piece. It wasn’t his best work, by far.  Novak looked thoroughly unimpressed, so Dean launched into a preemptive apology tour, as he was prone to do whenever he realized he was a failure yet again.

“I’m so very sorry to have wasted your time, sir, but I appreciate the opportunity to play for you. Good luck in your search.”

“Are you saying you’re not interested in attending a callback?”

Dean gaped at him. “Are you...am I...”

Novak reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a folder full of music. “These are some of the trios I have in mind. Choose one, learn it, and come back to play it with me. What time are you available on Monday?”

Dean reached forward and took the folder, feeling like he was walking underwater. “I get off work at 3:30.”

“That’s not what I asked you.”

“Sorry...anytime 5:00pm or later, sir. Whatever works best for you.”

Novak didn’t change expression. “Why haven’t you picked one of the trios yet?”

“I...you meant now? Yes, yes you did,” Dean replied shakily as he buried his eyes in the folder. It was all modern music, with no recognizable composer names. He quickly picked out one that looked interesting and handed the folder back.

Novak didn’t take it. “Take the cello part to your brother. I want you both back here on Monday at 5:30.”

In his flustered state Dean dropped the folder as he reopened it, and music went flying everywhere. Under the desk, under the credenza...everywhere.

“Oh fuck, I’m so sorry,” he blurted in sheer agony.

“Pick it up.”

“Yes, sir.”

Novak got up and left the office, leaving Dean alone and very, very anxious once he’d completed his task and reordered all the music. What was he supposed to do now? Leave? Stay?

He whipped out his phone and texted Sam.

_-Please tell me you’re free Monday at 5:30_

_-I’m playing the Sony cocktail party at 5_

_-Dude no you have to send someone else. Novak wants us back_

_-I can be there at 8_

_-Sam_

_-No. What’s going on now, have you left? What else did he say?_

_-SAM!!_

Novak re-entered the office, with no explanation whatsoever of where he’d been or what he was doing.

Dean sucked in a deep breath. “Justtextedmybrotherandhecantcomeuntil8onMonday.”

“Calm down. 8pm is fine. What piece did you choose?”

 _Thank the lords and angels above_. “Broken Glass #2.”

“Why that one?”

“It looks interesting.”

“It also has seven sharps. You like a challenge, then?”

Dean hadn’t noticed the notoriously difficult key signature, actually. “Yes, sir. Didn’t want you to think I was trying to get off easy.”

“You may go, unless you have any questions.”

“I do,” Dean answered without thinking. Shit. It was too late to back out now. “I was curious why you asked me what Sam played. I mean, of course we talked afterwards. We’re brothers.”

Novak cocked his head. “What?”

“Um. Never mind.”

“I liked the piece and couldn’t remember the name of it. Why do you _think_ I asked?”

“Oh.” Dean felt incredibly foolish for the fifth time today.

”Answer my question,” Novak grunted, and Dean jumped a little.

“Well, I thought you were testing me to see if Sam had told me what his audition was like.”

”Not even close. You’re dismissed.”

Fuck. Could Dean do _anything_ right today?

“Thanks. See you at 8pm on Monday, sir,” Dean blurted as he bolted out the door.


	4. Chapter 4

It took Dean half an hour to find his Facebook username and reset his password, but he finally managed. First things first.

_Search: Gabriel Angel_

The profile popped up immediately, and Dean quickly clicked on the Messenger icon before he could change his mind.

_Mr. Angel, you don’t know me, but when I was little my dad took me and my brother to see you and Castiel Novak on the Elements tour. It made such an impression on me that I became a violinist myself, and now I’m auditioning for his trio. I was wondering if you would be kind enough to give me any tips to win him over? Thank you in advance for your time and response._

Dean took a breath and hit _send_. Damn, this was hard. Sure, it had taken him a day and a half to get up the courage to contact the man, but now that he did, he wanted an instant response. But his attention was diverted by his phone, which he reluctantly got up to grab off the counter.

“Hi, dad.”

“Hey.”

“Where are you today?”

“Montgomery. You’ll love this: the governor's mansion has an Alabama-shaped pool.”

Dean couldn’t help but grin to himself. “Okay, that’s pretty cool. Find your vamp’s nest yet?”

“Yeah. Bunch of emo teenagers playing pretend. Total waste of a trip. Heading back to Lawrence in a bit. So, were  you going to tell me you’re auditioning for Novak, or what? Why did I have to hear it from Sam?”

Dean’s blood ran a little cold at that; his dad hated being out of the loop and there were exactly zero excuses as to why Dean hadn’t talked to him in three days.

“...Dean?”

“Sorry, dad. I-” He cut off as the _ba-bloop_ alert from Facebook messenger pinged from his laptop. “Hang on dad, one second. Sorry. Just...hang on.”

He frantically pulled up the message and felt his heart flip-flop as he read it.

_-Yeah. Don’t suck. Good luck._

Dean frowned. Really? _Really?_

- _Well that’s disappointing. I’ve always read that you were a valuable mentor to younger musicians. Guess I heard wrong._

_-Are you calling me old?_

_-I’m calling you rude. Forget it. Have a nice day, asshole._

He picked his phone back up. “Um, yeah dad. It’s not going to work out anyway. I guess I just didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

“Getting a callback from Novak is nothing to sneeze at, kiddo. Sam says you’re pushing him hard rehearsing the piece, so obviously you’re not taking it as lightly as you pretend to.”

“Yeah, he’s not happy with me right now,” Dean admitted. “I should probably ease up on him.”

_Ba-bloop!_

“Hang on, dad.”

“What are you doing?”

_-LOL. Nice. Another upstart brat with a shitty attitude. I couldn’t help you even if I wanted to._

Dean scowled.

_-Fuck off, no-talent douchebag. And yeah, you’re old!_

Dean slammed the laptop shut, feeling vaguely ashamed of his childish response but too angry to care.

“Dad. I don’t like the guy, okay? Let me just put it that way. He’s a total creep.”

John laughed a little at that. “Musical geniuses are always like that. Hell, geniuses of any kind. Twitchy as a squirrel in a shoebox. Look, when you two decided to go pro, I told you it was going to be tough dealing with all the egos and shit. Why do you think I hopped off that crazy train at the first opportunity?”

“He has...dad, he had _cardboard cutouts_ in the audience instead of people. I mean. Tell me that’s not weird as fuck.”

“Maybe he didn’t want you think you were playing to an empty room. A lot of people pull their energy solely from the presence of other people watching them. I know I did. Look, kiddo, don’t ease up on Sam. Push him, but push yourself harder. Don’t take this opportunity for granted.”

Dean sighed. “Novak’s been touring solo for so long, I think he’s forgotten how to talk to other human beings.”

“Tours aren’t solo. He has a huge entourage, and a crew, and everything else. Hey, forget that, why don’t you take a break. Go do some research, watch his interviews on YouTube, get a better feel for him. This a huge deal. Take it seriously, kiddo.”

“Yeah. I know. Okay, I have two hours before Sam picks me up.”

“Good. Don’t keep me out of the loop again, okay? I need to know what’s going on with my boys or else I get pretty lonely.”

“Okay, sorry dad. I really am. I mean...we wouldn’t even be having this audition in the first place without your support, so thank you.” Dean felt like crying suddenly; it had been a hard life for all of them after mom’s death, but dad had made his boys his top priority, and Dean _did_ take it for granted sometimes.

They hung up, and Dean made himself another cup of coffee and eventually wandered back to his laptop. He threw the lid up angrily in anticipation of another dick response from his new foe.

Nothing. _Good. Piece of shit._

YouTube first, Dean decided. Then written interviews, so he could read them in the man’s gravelly voice and guess at his mannerisms as he was talking.

He watched over an hour of interviews and felt much better after a while. The guy wasn’t so bad. Quirky, but calm and thoughtful. Sam called and said he’d be over in 15 minutes to pick Dean up for the audition.

With just a few minutes left, Dean searched for the most recent articles, found one posted only ten days ago, and clicked it to read the headline.

_Castiel Novak Appoints New Artistic Director for Comeback Tour_

Dean clicked on the link; a bunch of text with an embedded video popped up.

_Click play to watch our exclusive interview with Gabriel Angel, new artistic director for Castiel-_

Dean immediately spit his coffee all over the keyboard.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean felt eerily calm as he placed his violin into the back of Sam’s Dodge Charger and climbed into the front seat. Maybe he was in denial of what had just happened. No, scratch that. He was _definitely_ in denial that he had just totally fucked up his entire side career for the rest of his life.

“Did you talk to dad?” Sam asked as he pulled away from the curb.

“Yeah. You told him I was pushing you too hard, huh?”

“I didn’t say _too hard_. I said-”

“I’m not apologizing,” Dean interrupted shortly.

Sam glanced aside at him as he threw on a turn signal and pulled through a crowded intersection. “Didn’t ask you to. What’s wrong?”

Dean closed his eyes and took a painfully deep breath. Confession time. This was going to hurt. “Sam…”

“I know, I know. It’s a lot at stake, you had to get on my ass since I don’t like to practice. World tour, Castiel Novak, I get it. If you were trying to scare me with all that, it didn’t work. Dude, I’m actually _really_ excited now. We got a callback! Brothers, young, upcoming, touring with a legend. It makes a great story, and I think we’ve got a seriously good shot at this.”

Dean hadn’t seen Sam so animated and cheerful in...well, forever...and his heart just about dropped out of his chest at the realization that it was all for nothing. He felt his eyes start to water a little, so he reached into his bag and put on his sunglasses.

“Think of what is in store,” Sam continued giddily. “Seven months around the world. Dude, you’ve hardly been outside Kansas and California. I wonder how long it’ll take to get you a passport? Hopefully within six months, since the tour doesn’t start until then. Luxury hotels. Probably first class flights.”

“Sam-”

“I know, sorry. Crossing the bridge before we come to it, counting the chickens before they’re hatched, blah blah blah.”

Dean cleared his throat and sat up straighter. “Sam, will you shut up for a second? I’m trying to say something!”

Sam looked askance at him, startled and a little hurt. “Wow, Dean. Fine, say it.”

Those puppy dog eyes. That puppy dog face. Sam looked ten years old again.

_Fuck._

“We have to, uh, face the possibility that Novak might only choose one of us. You, maybe. Definitely not me. I mean, I’m not as good as you are.” Dean swallowed hard. “I think that I should back out of this one and just let you go solo. So I don’t drag you down, you know. Once he sees us both playing together, he can’t mentally separate us again afterwards.”

Silence from Sam for several long blocks. Dean felt like vomiting as he regretted ever re-activating his account on Facebook. At least he could have changed his name first, maybe, before insulting Novak’s new right hand man. That would have been wise. _But no, I’m not known for being wise. I’m just a colossal fuck-up, as always._

Finally Sam spoke up again. “I knew you were going to say that. That you were going to back out. Remember what dad used to do when you got all down on yourself like this? He’d compliment the shit out of you, treat you like a king to make you feel better. So did I. And it only made you feel worse with every positive word. So I’m not going to do that.”

“Tell me I suck, then. Reverse psychology is always awesome.”

“No, I’m going to call your damned bluff is what I’m going to do. If that’s what you want, fine. I’ll go in solo. I’ll get the gig, I’ll tour the world, and you’ll just stay home and play bar mitzvahs and live through me vicariously as I post all my awesome adventures on Facebook. Then I’ll get to support you in my old age with all my fame and fortune, long after your finger is all worn out from clicking the like button on my pictures.”

Dean looked at him in aghast and horror. “Dude. _Harsh._ What the fuck?”

“Yeah, Dean. I’m officially sick of your self-loathing. So where do you want me to let you out? A bus stop, a taxi stand, what? I’ve got an important audition to go to, don’t hold me up.”

Sam didn’t wait for an answer, and pulled over to a side street and unlocked the doors.

“Get out.”

“Sam, I get it. Stop it.”

Sam got out of the car and went around to the other side, where he threw open the back door and gently took out Dean’s violin case. Then he opened Dean’s door.

“Out,” he ordered firmly.

“This is stupid. Let’s go.”

Sam turned and set Dean’s violin on the sidewalk and went back to the driver’s side.

“Dude! What the-” Dean leaped out of the car to retrieve his beloved violin, affectionately named Charlie. While he snatched her up and turned to re-enter the car, Sam got back in and locked the doors, then rolled Dean’s window down slightly.

“Concert Hall is four blocks that way, taxi stand is across the street. You’ve got your wallet?”

Dean tugged on the door handle in disbelief. “Yeah, but Sam, come on. This is crazy.”

“You’ve got plenty of time to walk it. Or you can go home and give it all up now. Your choice.”

“It’s just not that simple, man! There’s something I have to tell-”

The window rolled up tightly, and Sam pulled away from the curb without another word, leaving Dean looking after him with a murderous expression and aching heart. _God damn you, Sam._

Somehow he’d lost his sunglasses while getting out of the car, so he had nothing to hide the tears that started to stream down his face. At least no one was paying attention to him.

He hesitated, then walked across to the street and grabbed a cab home.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean turned off his phone when he got in the cab. Completely off, which he never did. He almost threw it out the window, but thought better of it. He really couldn’t afford a new one on an elementary school teacher’s salary.

When he got home, he put the laptop into a drawer. Didn’t even bother to open it again to shut it down, didn’t want to see Gabriel Angel’s name and face inside his apartment ever again. Then he got into the shower, and cried himself sick over letting his brother down. Again.

Then he drank a little, shoved his violin into the back of the closet, and drank some more. He fell asleep with his ass hanging off the couch, and forgot to set his alarm.

\---

_Thump thump thump._

_Thump thump thump._

Dean lifted his head a little and cracked open a very red eye.

“Dean? You in there? Dean?”

Sam was at the door. _Fuck, back to reality. Oh shit...headache. Too much to drink. What day is it?_

Dean closed his eyes and laid his head down again. Sam had keys, he could get in if he really wanted to. He would eventually.

Or not. Dean suddenly remembered he had flipped over the interior security latch on the door, so he painfully, slowly, lifted himself up and staggered over to open the door.

“I’m going to murder you, Dean, I swear to god,” Sam grumbled as he barged in and half-dragged his brother back to the couch. “You’re really late for work. Your school just called me, and I almost had a heart attack thinking you ran off and got yourself killed or something!”

“Ugh,” Dean mumbled as he flopped back down. “Oh damn. Gotta get dressed.”

“No, they got a substitute. You’re good. I lied and said I had to take you to urgent care.”

“Thanks Sammy.” Dean pulled a blanket over his head and groaned.

“We have to talk, Dean.”

“Not now.”

“Obviously. Have you eaten? Had enough water? What do you need, tell me. I’ll look for some Alka-Seltzer in your bathroom. Do you know if you have any?”

Dean peered at him again; his brother’s change in attitude from irate to calming and concerned was the last thing he expected. He wouldn’t be at all surprised if Sam actually carried out his threat to kill him.

“Water, please,” he said, his dry tongue rasping. Sam quickly brought it, then rummaged through the fridge for some time, then put something on the stove, making ungodly clanging noises that set Dean’s teeth on edge for at least half an hour.

“What are you doing,” Dean asked once, but his brother couldn’t hear him.

Finally, _finally_ , the noise stopped. Dean was feeling somewhat restored now and he sat up slightly at Sam’s command.

“What...is that,” Dean mumbled.

“Macaroni and cheese. With hot dogs all cut up in it. Some Gatorade. Come on, sit up for me. Shit, Dean. You scared the fuck out of me. I’m sorry, I called dad to see if he’d heard from you, and he’s...well, now he knows what happened yesterday.”

“Fucking fantastic,” Dean mumbled around his first forkful of mac and cheese. “He’s gonna come up here and beat my ass, 26 years old or not. Thanks a lot, Sammy.”

“No, he’s not.”

“Yeah. Well, let’s hear it. Tell me what a fuck up I am. Not that I don’t already know.”

Silence from Sam. Dean took another bite, then looked up. His brother’s eyes were moist, and his forehead furrowed adorably.

“Sam? Your wifi signal is on again. Just give it to me. I can take it. Keep the volume down though, if you don’t mind.”

“I...dad isn’t mad at you. He’s mad at me, and he should be. I’m not mad at you, either. Dean...I am so, so, terribly sorry for what I did yesterday. I’ll never forgive myself. Ever.”

Dean paused mid-bite. “Wait. _What_? I...I chickened out. I left you high and dry. It was my decision. Shit. Okay, you know what, forget that. Tell me how the audition went.”

“It was good. Novak's brother was there and played the violin part in your absence. I got a second callback notice about an hour ago."

Dean smiled so wide that it hurt his ears. Damned hangover. “I knew it, Sammy. You’re amazing. You’re gonna get this, and you were right, I’m gonna be so proud watching you from afar-”

“Dean, stop. Not done yet. I had to explain why you weren’t there, and...Novak wants to talk to you. He actually won’t let me play for him again until you call him.”

Dean gulped. “Wait. I never got the chance to tell you why I didn’t want to go. What the hell did you say to him?”

“Well, that you...fuck, Dean, you’re gonna hate me, but I have to tell you. Seeing as you’re relatively defenseless at the moment, I guess there’s no time like the present.”

“ _What did you tell him?”_ Dean growled angrily.

Sam flushed a little. “I just...that you, you know, have some self-worth issues. That you’re, uh, inclined to impulsive and rash decisions. Nothing you wouldn’t agree with!”

Dean started to rise. “Guess what, you’re not gonna have the chance to kill me, Sammy, because I’m gonna kill you first.”

“Dean, let me finish.”

“Oh, you’re finished, all right.”

“Sit down. Don’t worry, he’s not as crazy as you think he is.”

“It’s not _him_ I’m worried about!”

Sam looked puzzled. “Then...who?”

Dean took a deep breath and rubbed his temples. He owed Sam this much, no matter how much it pained him. No matter how humiliated and embarrassed he felt.

“Gabriel Angel.”

“The violinist that I just played with? Why?”

Dean huffed. “No, he’s the new artistic director. Wait...thought you said Novak’s brother played with you?”

“Yeah. Castiel and Gabriel are brothers. I thought you knew?”

Dean’s jaw dropped. “Son of a bitch!”


	7. Chapter 7

“Mr. Novak, this is Dean Winchester.”

“Hello, Dean.”

Gulp. “Um, hello. I...Sam said I had to call you before you would let him play for you again. So, I...well, first I should definitely apologize for bailing on the callback. I’m not exactly sure what he told you, but it wasn’t his fault, and he shouldn’t lose the opportunity over my stupidity. It was my decision, I messed up, and I won’t waste any more of your time. I’m truly sorry.”

There was an animalistic grunt from Novak, and Dean grimaced.

“It appears your brother misunderstood me. Perhaps deliberately. I never said he couldn’t play for me again if you didn’t call. But nonetheless, I’m glad you did.”

“Oh my god, I’m sorry.” Dean flushed hotly. _Oh yes, now you’re dead, Sam._

“So,” began Novak said in a very serious tone, “you don’t think you’re good enough to play in my trio, I understand?”

“Um. Something like that.”

“Hmmm. Or maybe you really just thought I wouldn’t consider you, what with you insulting and cussing out my brother, and all that.”

Dean almost hung up the phone; this was unbearably painful and mortifying. But something in Novak’s voice kept him on the line. Something told him he was going to be forgiven, which he desperately needed.

“Yes, mainly that. Sir, I swear to you, I didn’t know his relation to you, or that he was your artistic director, or anything like that.”

“Would that have mattered?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t have contacted him in the first place if I knew that.”

“So, do all your conversations generally take that course?” Novak asked, a trace of amusement creeping into his tone. “Especially when you’re trying to hit a stranger up for free advice?”

Dean was sweating bullets again, and roundly cussing out Sam in his head for putting him into this horrible position.

“More of them than I’m willing to admit to, sir. Look, I...please forget I exist at all, and just give Sam a chance. I’ve screwed him over so many times in my life, and I can’t bear being the reason he would lose a chance like this.”

“I’ve already called him back to play again on Wednesday. Didn’t he tell you?”

“Yes, but...as I said, he said you wouldn’t let him unless I called you.”

“Okay, well, you called me. So we’ve got that all straightened out. Anything else?”

Dean hesitated. “No. Thank you again, and best of luck finding your trio.”

“Thank you, Dean. Just so you know, I’ve ripped Gabriel a new one for not offering to help you. He’s vowed to change his attitude in the future. I’m truly sorry for the response you got, and not just because it reflects badly on him. It reflects badly on all successful musicians in general. We should be helping our brethren out, and that didn’t happen here. He was having a bad day, not that it excuses anything.”

Dean swallowed hard in surprise, and couldn’t find the words to answer immediately. “Oh. I..thank you. I should apologize to him, though, and I will.”

“That’s between the two of you. Just know that I won’t let this affect my decision on whether or not to hire Sam. You, of course, are no longer a possibility.”

“Uh, yeah...I figured that. Understood.”

Castiel said goodbye and hung up, and Dean let out an extremely long breath. He was absolutely humiliated, and beyond furious with Sam’s horrible manipulation. He’d have to deal with his brother later, though. It was time to make amends with Gabriel Angel.

\----

_-Mr. Angel? Do you have a moment_

_-Oh, our young upstart. Hello, Dean_

_-I want to apologize for being so rude to you on Monday. I hope you can accept my deepest apologies._

_-Did Castiel put you up to this? Or Sam?_

_-No, this is all me. I would appreciate if we could just talk man-to-man without the hostility. I made a mistake, I was under a lot of stress, and I let my emotions get the best of me. I just wanted to say sorry and wish you luck in your new position._

_-Thank you_

_-I really did see you in concert when I was little. Five or six. I made my dad buy me a violin the next day and I’ve been playing ever since. Had no idea that when I finally got the chance to thank you, this is how it would go. Anyway, thank you for the inspiration. Have a nice day._

_-How long ago was that?_

_-Twenty years_

_-You’ve been playing for twenty years?_

_-Yes, but I think it’s time to hang it up now. Obviously I can’t handle the pressure. I hope Sam has a chance to play with Mr. Novak. He’s amazing. Learns so fast, puts a hundred percent into everything. Never gets all freaked out like I do._

_-Why do you get freaked out?_

_-I just do. Sam told Mr. Novak that I lack impulse control. He wasn’t wrong_

_-There are ways to fix that. Self-discipline is hard to master, but easy to learn_

_-You sound like my dad :)_

_-We’ll give Sam a fair chance, don’t worry. Good luck in your future endeavors._

Just like that, the conversation was over. Gabriel logged off, and Dean found himself deeply stung with disappointment and sudden loneliness after being dismissed so harshly by two men he had admired for so long. It felt like he was waking up into a new world. He sighed and got up to pull the doors open to his closet. Charlie was there, shoved haphazardly into the corner. His dad’s violin, given to him on his tenth birthday in the hopes of a bright, prosperous, happy future that would likely never come.

Twenty years. All of it down the drain with just one Facebook message.

He went back into his kitchen and pulled out a half-empty bottle of Jack, and drank nearly all of it before heading off to bed.

 


	8. Chapter 8

One month passed, in which Dean canceled all of his gigs and never took Charlie out of the closet. He focused on work, enrolled at Cal State Los Angeles to get his secondary school credentials (teaching high school paid three times as much as teaching elementary school), and stopped going out with his friends. He ceased talking to his family entirely, except by random text every now and then when they really started to get on his nerves with the constant check-ups. Sam was in Australia for work for two weeks, and dad was chasing something or another in Idaho.

In short, Dean Winchester was depressed and directionless. It got worse when, by chance, he found out through a press release in some music-themed email newsletter that Sam had gotten the job as Novak’s cellist.

Sam had gotten the job. And didn’t tell him.

Dean turned off his phone again and drank for three days. It was a holiday weekend, so no substitute needed this time.

\-------

Monday morning Dean turned on his phone to find 14 texts from Sam. He went into the bathroom and brushed his teeth while scrolling through them all.

_-I just got to my last hotel and saw the press release. Call me_

_-Don’t be mad. I wanted to tell you first but I had the date wrong_

_-They released it a day earlier than I thought_

_-Hope you’re ok. Text me back. I’m just getting to Sydney and heading home_

_-Also, they haven’t found a violinist yet. Castiel is so picky_

_-Like ridiculously critical. Hope we can find someone before the tour_

_-Look I know you’re going through some stuff and I’m really sorry_

_-Dad says you’re not returning his calls either. We’re really worried about you_

_-Anyway I’m getting on the plane now and will be landing Monday at 5am_

_-Can we talk Monday after school? Let me know, I’ll come over_

_-Just landed back in ‘Murica. Going through customs._

_-Call me when you’re awake_

_-Hey taking a cab to your apartment_

_-I’m here. Coming up_

Dean started a little, that text was only 2 minutes ago; Sam was going to be at the front door any second. He quickly texted back.

_-Dude it’s 6am, I just woke up_

The _swoosh_ noise that his iPhone made corresponded with a knock on the door.

 _Fuck._ Dean ran into his bedroom and pulled on some sweats, then irritably unshackled the front door security lock and opened it. Sam and dad were standing there on his doormat. _Oh god._

“Um. Hi?”

“Hey Dean,” they said together as they let themselves in. Dean barely had time to step off to the side to let them pass, and squeezed back even further into the corner as Sam rolled in two enormous suitcases.

“Make yourselves at home,” he said sarcastically. “I didn’t know you were in town, dad.”

“Been calling you for three days, kiddo.” John looked around the apartment. “Yeah, this place looks pretty much like I expected it to look. Frat Boy Chic, with a little bit of that Modern Homeless feel.”

“Thanks. You guys know I have to go to work today, right?”

“Yeah,” John answered quickly. “We’re here to make sure you actually do. Intervention time, first. Sit down, Dean. 15 minutes, that’s all I need for now. When was the last time you shaved?”

“Um. Thursday? Dad, this really isn’t necessary. I know I’ve been out of touch, but it was a holiday weekend.”

“You canceled all your gigs this month, and next.”

Dean sat down, and his heart jumped a little. “Uh. How did you know that?”

“I ran into your manager on Saturday at Starbucks. Former manager, rather. You fired him.”

Dean scoffed. “I didn’t fire him. I told him to take a break in representing me. Guys, this is really not a good time. I have to get ready for work, and as you can see, I’ve got a lot of beautifying to do right now, so-”

John flung out a hand towards Dean’s chest and pressed him back down onto the sofa.

“I don’t think so. We’ve got thirteen more minutes.”

“But I didn’t agree to that.”

“Didn’t ask you to, son. Now, I understand you and Sam haven’t been speaking because you thought he tricked you into calling Castiel Novak a few weeks ago.”

Dean glared at Sam. “Yeah. He _did_ trick me. Didn’t you tell him, Sam?”

Sam’s face was a picture of misery. “Yes, but it was for a good cause. I didn’t think you’d go off the deep end because of it.”

“The _deep end_?” Dean parroted sharply, highly scandalized by that choice of words.

John broke in. “If you two were still teenagers, my belt would already be off trying to make you pay for the way you’ve been treating each other.”

“Dad, stop, please,” said Sam pleadingly. “I get it, and you’re right, but please stop. Let me tell Dean what we came here to tell him, before we all start shouting at each other.”

Dean and John fell silent and looked at the youngest Winchester expectantly.

“Okay, thank you. Hear me out. Dean, I’m sorry for what I did. I really am. I’m even more sorry for getting the job and not telling you right away. I was scared about how you’d react.”

Dean flared his nostrils. “I told you I was proud of you all along, Sam. You had no reason to-”

“Just wait, let me talk. I thought...I really, _really_ thought Castiel would invite you back to play again if you could just have the opportunity to speak man to man. Obviously, I was wrong, and I’ve never been more sorry for anything in my life.”

“Yeah, me either,” Dean fired back hotly. “Thanks a lot for your thoughtfulness, Sam!”

Sam closed his eyes for a few seconds to calm himself. “Castiel hasn’t found a violinist yet. He wants you to audition again. Tonight.” He opened his eyes. “ _Please_...say yes.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Sam…” Dean finally breathed after a few moments of stunned silence. “I can’t. Haven’t picked up Charlie in a month, for starters. But tonight is the talent show at my school. I have to be there. I _want_ to be there. Those kids are counting on me, and I won’t let them down.”

_Not like the way I’ve let you down so many times._

Sam perked up a little anyway. “Um, okay. So that’s not an outright no to another audition, then? Like, what if we can reschedule? What days work for you this week?”

Dean shook his head and looked down at his hands. “I can’t face them, Sam. You must know why by now.”

Sam obviously knew why; he glanced at John furtively and nodded. “I know, yes. The whole, um, Gabriel Facebooking thing.”

“What Gabriel Bookfacing thing?” asked John.

“Facebook, dad. I’ll tell you while Dean’s at work.” He turned his attention back to his brother. “Let me get a message to Castiel, I’ll tell him about the talent show. He’ll be ok with that. When are you available this week? Let’s at least set a time, you can think about it and practice up, and if you’re not up for it, you’re not up for it. End of story and I’ll never ask you again. I promise, absolutely swear, that I will never bring it up, ever again.”

Dean stood up, and this time his dad didn’t stop him. “I’m not good enough, Sam! I don’t know how else to get it through your head that he’s not going to pick me. I’m just wasting his time.”

“Prove it, then. Give me a day and time, Dean. That’s all I ask, then I’m out of your hair permanently.”

Dean went into his kitchen and prepared a pot of coffee methodically, taking his time, not rushing and not caring that his brother was impatiently waiting for his response.

“You guys want coffee?”

“Please,” they said together, and Dean took three mugs down from the cabinet. “Sam, how do I know this is legit? You tricked me last time. I don’t trust you not to play dirty on me a second time.”

Sam pulled his phone out of his back pocket.

“Come here.”

“Just a second.”

Dean juggled all three mugs and put them down on the coffee table, then sat down again - away from his brother and dad.

“What are we looking at?”

“Not looking. Listening.”

Sam hit play on the voicemail message.

“Sam, it’s Castiel. I’ve hired the two alternates, but still no principal violin. If you think he’d be willing, please ask your brother to come in and play for me again. I’m available Monday night at 9pm.”

He put the phone facedown on the table. “That’s it, that’s all there is to it. No games. Can I have some sugar, please?”

Dean got back up and went into the kitchen to fetch the sugar and a few spoons, and Sam’s phone buzzed. He peeked at it and breathed deeply to calm his nerves.

“Um, Dean. This is totally not planned, I swear to god. Castiel is calling me right now. Do you want me to answer?”

Dean walked over with the sugar and set it down, then nodded. He was pale.

“Mr. Novak, good morning...no, I just landed from Australia so I’m awake. You’re in New York? Oh, okay, well safe travels. Actually, yeah, um…”

He looked at Dean with wide eyes, and mouthed, _should I tell him I’m with you?_

Dean rubbed his temples, then made a “let me talk to him” gesture at his ear.

“Sir, I’m in Dean’s apartment right now, and I’ve just played your message for him. He, he...uh, yes, sir, here you go.”

His eyes widened as he handed the phone to Dean, who took it as if it were a hot potato, and instantly disappeared into the bedroom and shut the door.

Sam and John looked at each other and smiled, then quietly high-fived each other.

“Castiel always comes through, like I said,” Sam said smugly. “Great idea, dad.”

\--

“Sir, I’m flattered by your offer. The truth is, though, I haven’t played in a month, and my kids, they have their big talent show tonight.”

“I wasn’t aware you are a father. Perhaps trying to recruit you for a seven month tour is a bad idea.”

“Oh, they’re not actually my own kids. I don’t have any. My class, I mean. I’m an elementary school teacher.”

“I see. Well, I’m open Tuesday at 8pm, then I leave for Johannesburg on Wednesday morning. I suppose we could try for next week if Tuesday is no good.”

“Tuesday’s good, sir. I can do that. I’m...like I said, a bit rusty though.”

“Why haven’t you played in so long? Your brother said you had all kinds of gigs lined up.”

Dean shook his head; he should have never mentioned the subject. “Yeah, I...it’s kind of a personal matter. I’ll get up to speed quickly. I can do Tuesday at 8pm. What would you like me to play?”

“Your favorite piece is fine.”

“Okay, well that won’t work. Mr. Shurley told me you don’t like Bach.”

“Don’t ever mention his name to me again.”

“Got it. Vivaldi?”

“That’s fine.”

Dean felt sick to his stomach; this was all too easy. He didn’t trust Sam’s role in this suspiciously convenient call, and strongly suspected he’d been played. Again.

“Thank you. I’m really glad that Sam arranged for you to call while he was in my apartment. I don’t think I would have gotten up the nerve to speak to you otherwise.”

“I’m glad it worked out, especially because my flight was so late in arriving. I was afraid I would miss you. See you Tuesday at 8pm.”

 _Fucking hell, Sam!_ “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

Dean hung up the phone, strode out to the living room, parked himself in front of his brother, and angrily sucker-punched him in the face.


	10. Chapter 10

“Alright. You’re officially out of control now,” John growled.

“Owwwww. Get off me.” Dean was splayed flat on his stomach on the floor, with his dad’s knee in his back and his arms held behind him in a tight grip. Sam was in the kitchen, ripping off paper towels left and right to help stem the flood of blood from his nose.

“I’m not hurting you, Dean, don’t be dramatic. When was the last time you got your ass properly blistered?”

“Get off me!”

“You were seventeen, I think. Been a while. My arm is gonna be out of practice.”

“I swear I will disown you if you lay a single finger on me.”

John looked at Sam and asked conversationally, “You okay, Sammy? He got you good, huh?”

“Yeah. Hurts, but not broken. Dad, let him up. Please. I’m not mad.”

“Well I am, and he’s staying put until he calms the fuck down. Dean, stop squirming so much.”

“I have to get ready for work. Get out of my apartment, both of you. And Sam? Tell your new boss I said to fuck off.”

Sam came out of the kitchen and crouched beside his brother, his expression showing concern and regret.

“No. Castiel wasn’t in on it, Dean. Not the way you think. Dad, let him up. Come on, he has to go to work.”

John let go of Dean’s wrists and stood back up. Dean leaped to his feet, his expression making a charging bull look positively Zen in comparison.

“ _Both of you. Out. Now_.”

“Wait, Dean,” Sam said quickly. “Your apartment is a wreck. Let us clean it for you, and stock your fridge and pantry back up. I mean, it’s the least we can do. Dad brought over a bunch of cleaning supplies and...can you please stop looking at me like that?”

“What else do you have planned for me today, Sam? Any other fucking ambushes that I need to keep an eye out for? No, you can’t stay here and be my fucking maids! Leave. Right now.”

They left. Dean got ready for work in record time, and when he opened the door to stalk out, his brother and father were still in the hallway. He pushed past them and ran down the stairs to his car, and tried to put them out of his mind the moment he parked at the school.

Then he remembered Sam had keys to his place, so he pulled out his phone to warn him to stay out. There was already a text waiting for him.

_-You’re going to get roaches. Dude. It’s nasty_

_-You better not be inside right now. And you’re lucky I didn’t break your fucking neck. That was messed up_

_-Yeah, we’re cleaning up. Relax_

_-Oh my fucking god_

_-Have a good day at school. You’ll feel better when you get back home to a sparkling clean place._

Dean literally could not find the words to form a coherent reply. Dad and Sam had always just done whatever they wanted without Dean’s consent, and he often felt like a black sheep who was just along for the ride. This was no different, and in fact, one of the worst violations of his wishes so far. But he couldn’t do a damned thing, so he threw the phone in his backseat and stomped inside the school.

—

Dean was unusually snippy with his students that day, and they were quiet as he set them to an activity and disappeared behind his laptop to search for a locksmith to change the locks on his door.

First he was going to delete his Facebook account. He pulled up the site and immediately heard the telling “ba-bloop” of a new message. He clicked on the little lightning symbol. It was from Gabriel.

_-Dean. You there? Castiel told me your situation_

_-My situation? Not sure what you mean_

_-Not having played in a month. I’m happy to work with you tomorrow before your audition, to make sure you’re back in shape. I’m free at 6_

_-Thanks, but I’m canceling. I appreciate the offer though_

_-Why canceling?_

_-It’s personal, sorry_

_-Think I deserve some explanation, what with being the one who talked Castiel into inviting you back_

_-I didn’t know that was your doing. Why?_

_-Guilt, mostly. I was not kind to you. Why are you canceling?_

_-Same reason, oddly enough_

_-Gotcha. You’re one of those, too. Can’t say I’m surprised_

_-One of what?_

_-I can help you out. Meet me at 6 tomorrow in the concert hall_

_-But I don’t want to play anymore_

_-See you then_

Gabriel logged off again, abruptly, and Dean sighed and massaged his temples again. _Son of a bitch..._

\---

It was the world’s longest, angriest day for Dean, but against his will, he found himself eagerly looking forward to arriving home to a clean apartment. Even though he’d never admit it.

He walked in with somewhat lower expectations than what was delivered. The place was absolutely sparkling from top to bottom. His closet was completely reorganized, pantry and fridge re-stocked from top to bottom (they had gone on a Trader Joe’s shopping spree), and not a speck of dust to be seen anywhere. Not a dirty sock to be found, either, or a dirty dish. Dean was somewhat overwhelmed with gratitude at first, but his heart fell a little when he peeked into the dining room and saw his violin out on the table. The Vivaldi piece he had been planning to play tomorrow was already set in place on the music stand.

He went back into the bedroom and looked at his phone. No texts from anyone. Not even Sam.

He started up a new thread that included Sam and dad:

_-Okay. It looks amazing. You’re right, I feel better. Thanks so much._

Then, a separate text to Sam alone:

_-I’m not sorry_

_-Neither am I_

Dean set the phone down, then went into the dining room and picked up his violin.

  
  
  



	11. Chapter 11

Well. This was it.

Here he was, for better or worse.

Dean pulled open the “staff only” door and peered into the gloom. Gabriel was already onstage, studying the light booth critically.

“No. That’s not right, either. Twenty percent more ought to do it,” he said to an invisible technician, and the lights quickly brightened accordingly. Dean was so busy watching him that he forgot to catch the door behind him, which swung shut with a huge squeal and a bang.

“Dean, is that you? Come on up. Kevin, give it another five percent.”

Dean gathered up his courage and walked down the aisle, then climbed the side stairs to the stage right wings, where Gabriel was now busy fussing with a curtain.

“I’m sorry about the door, sir. Dean Winchester.” He stuck out his hand, and Gabriel leaned over to return the handshake.

“Nice to meet you,” they both said together, then Gabriel said, “Set all of your stuff down in the green room, right behind you. There’s a bathroom in there. Take off your jacket if you want, or whatever you need to get comfortable, then join me onstage when you’re ready. Without your violin. Just your music and a pencil.”

“Without m-my violin?”

Gabriel didn’t seem to hear him, or was ignoring him, and walked away. “Kevin, can you get facilities down here to work on that damned door again tomorrow?”

Dean steaded himself with a deep breath and went into the green room, which was indeed green, contrary to all of the ones he had seen; there were very few people who took the name literally these days. In fact, it was _too_ green. He even looked green in the mirror.

 _Oh, wait. I am green,_ he realized idly as his stomach churned unpleasantly. Dean set down his violin and briefcase, then took off his jacket and set it on top of the pile in a big green chair. He used the bathroom, quickly, then pulled out his music and hurried onstage.

“Please sit,” Gabriel said pleasantly, and Dean looked around. The stage was completely bare.  “Where do I get a chair, please?

“On the stage, I meant.” Gabriel promptly sat down cross-legged right in front of Dean and looked up at him expectantly.

“Oh, okay. Like that?”

“Like this, yes. Facing me.”

Dean did, carefully gauging the proper distance to prevent an even more excruciating level of awkwardness.

“Your music, please.”

Dean silently handed it across.

“Why this particular arrangement?” Gabriel asked after studying it for some time. “Why not the de Blasse version?”

“I don’t know of that one,” Dean lied; the truth was that he simply couldn’t afford the premium sheet music from more esteemed contemporary arrangers.

“You’ve been playing the violin for twenty years and don’t know de Blasse?”

“I do know of him. Are you saying my taste in music is inferior? Because I can only-”

Dean stopped himself; he had been about to admit the truth, and that wouldn’t do. Gabriel Angel could simply _not_ know that his brother’s potential protege was living paycheck to paycheck and in debt to own brother for many thousands of dollars.

“I’m only saying this particular arrangement is inferior,” Gabriel replied evenly. “That wasn’t a comment on your personal taste. Close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Close your eyes. Everytime you get defensive with me, you have to close your eyes for 30 seconds and be silent.”

“I’m not twelve!”

“Now it’s a minute. Close your eyes,” Gabriel repeated gently. “I will, too.”

He did, and fell perfectly still. Dean stared at him in dismay for at least twenty seconds, then he took a deep breath and closed his eyes in order to avoid more argument. He was already regretting having shown up here in the first place. What right did Gabriel have to treat him like a child, anyway? He writhed the whole time, and peeked at Gabriel several times to make sure he wasn’t looking.

“Alright. Open. Do you want to see the de Blasse arrangement?”

“Are you joking? My audition is in two hours. I don’t have time to re-learn this.”

Gabriel paused. “Close your eyes.”

“Again?”

“ _Dean_. Just do it. It’s not going to hurt you. Thank you. Thirty seconds.”

Dean complied angrily, and fumed furiously. He wasn’t even sure why he was still sitting here; he should have gotten up the first time and stormed out. There was nothing more he hated than being treated like a little kid.

This time, Gabriel wasn’t silent. “Dean, I’m sorry for the way I treated you over Messenger. It was uncalled for. I hope you’ve forgiven me. For the record, I have now forgiven you for your equally unacceptable behavior. Let’s move on, and work together as musicians and allies.”

Dean stole a glance around the room to see if anyone else was present to watch this utter silliness.

“It’s just us, Dean. Eyes shut, starting the thirty seconds over. Shhhh.”

“What am I supposed to be doing, or thinking about? Sorry, I don’t get it.”

“I’m going to ask you again about seeing a different version of your music. You have thirty seconds to think about what your answer will be. Go.”

Dean sighed, then closed his eyes.

_Why the fuck am I doing this? That’s right, because my spoiled brat brother wants to tour the world and drag me along with him to kiss his ass. Fucking Gabriel Angel, looking down on me because I can’t afford music up to his standards..._

_Probably going to laugh at me when I play, tell me I’m rough around the edges, ask if I only had a public school education. Elitist douchebag trying to throw me off two hours before my last fucking chance at salvation. Probably trying to sabotage me..._

_I memorized this piece in three hours, though. No reason I can’t make a few adjustments in two._

“Dean, would you like to try the de Blasse arrangement?”

Dean’s eyes flew open. “Yes, please.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

Dean was pleasantly surprised to find he liked the new arrangement. All the actual notes were the same of course, but they were phrased in a new, highly interesting way. Some different dynamics, accents put on alternate notes. It was delightful.

Truth was, he actually loved it. Grudgingly, of course. After being given thirty minutes on his own to learn it and play through it, Gabriel came back into the concert hall and sat in the front row.

“Do you need more time?”

“No, I think I’m ready to give it a go.”

“When you’re ready, maestro. I won’t interrupt.”

Dean took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and began to play. He didn’t miss a single note, and was incredibly proud of himself afterwards.

“You won’t make it past thirty seconds with Castiel,” Gabriel announced blandly.

“I’m sorry?” Dean asked after a beat, thinking he had misheard.

“You’re not connecting emotionally with the music at all. What were you thinking about while you were playing?”

“Not missing any notes, for starters,” Dean answered sarcastically.

“Close your eyes.”

“Oh come on,” Dean groaned. “Not that again.”

“Yes, that again.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m trying to get you out of the habit of this automatic defensiveness with everything you say.”

“I get that, but I’m an adult. This is the kind of tactic I would use on my fifth graders.”

“It’s not about treating you like a child. It’s about helping you _not_ act like a child. My question was, _what were you thinking about while you were playing_? Go.”

Dean blew a deep puff of air out of his cheeks and closed his eyes, trying not to grumble aloud.

_Okay, what am I thinking about? Hitting the notes. Isn’t that my job? What else should I be doing? Connecting emotionally, right. Because emotions are my biggest asset and all. I’m so in tune with my damned emotions, I have to be treated like a toddler just to keep them in check. I don’t even want to be here right now. So pissed at Sam for tricking me into this. The last thing I needed was yet another rejection from these two douchebags._

“Okay, Dean. What say you?”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Try me.”

“Fine. I’m thinking how I really don’t want to be here right now, because my crazy brother tricked me into agreeing to play again for _your_ crazy brother.”

Gabriel smiled thinly. “Ah, well, we finally have something in common besides playing the violin. Crazy brothers.”

Dean paled. “I didn’t mean to call him crazy. I’m so sorry.”

“Maybe it will make you feel better to learn that I didn’t want to be here tonight, either. Because _my_ crazy brother forced me to give up concert tickets and stay to help you as punishment for not helping you in the first place.”

“Wow. Okay. I guess I know who wears the pants in your family,” he joked feebly.

“Castiel does, yes, and always has. You’ll learn that fairly quickly if you’re hired.”

“Right. Well, that doesn’t look very likely now, does it? Should I just go, or what?”

“Take a break. Come back if you want to proceed, leave if you don’t. I’m going to my office, and I’ll wander back in eventually. The place is all yours until then.”

Dean smirked. “Why don’t you put up some cardboard cutouts, so I don’t feel so lonely?”

\---

Dean went to the bathroom, then right back to the stage. He enjoyed the acoustics in the concert hall and decided to relish them as long as he could, now that he’d never have the chance to do this again. He played several Bach partitas first, just out of spite (and half-hopeful that Novak would hear them and come barging in to scream at him), then some Paganini, carefully avoiding the piece had originally played on his first horrific audition. Then back to Bach. He was satisfied and ready to go home at that point, since Gabriel wasn’t coming back after all apparently.

He put the Vivaldi back on the stand and admired it sadly. He wasn’t into stealing, so he figured he would play it one more time and then try to scrape up the money to buy it. For now, memorizing as much as possible would have to do.

But first he dashed back into the green room for his phone and laid it at the foot of the stage in recording mode. At least he would have a shoddy, tinny recording of his first, last, and only solo performance at Novak Arts Center. He tucked his violin under his chin and smiled to himself.

\--

Dean was packing away his violin when Gabriel finally reappeared.

“So you gave up on me after all, I see,” said Dean mildly. He was surprised to find he was annoyed and disappointed, too. That was weird.

“No point in critiquing you if aren’t going to believe anything I say.”

“Oh trust me, I believed you when you said I played like shit,” Dean grumbled. “And no, I’m not going to _close my eyes,_ so don’t even ask.”

“Fine. Castiel is sitting in the concert hall. If you want to audition for him, this is your last chance.”

“Why bother?”

“Dean, I didn’t give up on you. I’ve been listening to you for an hour from the booth. I’ll leave it up to you to decide why I begged Castiel to come and listen, since you’re incapable of taking a compliment.”

“Wait. You had to beg him? He said he _wanted_ to hear me play.”

“In his office, yeah. But everyone sounds better here. So are you going to do it?”

Dean felt numb all over. And strangely...good? That was new.

“Um. Fuck. I don’t know. Okay, yeah. I mean, why not.”

“Watch that arpeggio at the end. Don’t rush it.”

Gabriel left Dean alone again. He unzipped his violin case.

“Alright, Charlie. Let’s try to prove my dumb ass wrong for once.”

  
  



	13. Chapter 13

Just as quickly as Dean had roused up the courage to play for Novak, he quickly faltered again as wave after wave of doubts started flooding his mind while he fine-turned Charlie again.

_Gabriel is only being nice to me because Novak is pissed at him._

D string unraveling again. Shit.

_Novak never really wanted to hear me play again, but Gabriel annoyed him enough that he agreed to do it._

Tighten up the screws on the shoulder rest again. They’re squeaky. God, this thing is old.

_Sam and dad are in cahoots with Gabriel somehow, this is all part of my intervention and Novak is just playing along._

Take a deep breath.

_No one is ever going to take an elementary school teacher seriously on the world stage. I would just be the laughing stock of the music world._

Dean sat down and trembled.

_Can’t believe I brought in a shitty arrangement to play for this dude. I’m so out of my depth right now._

“Dean?”

Dean leaped up at the sound of Novak’s voice at the green room’s door.

“Uh, um, hi. Sorry, y-you are waiting for me.”

Novak frowned irritably. “Yes. What are you doing?”

“Um. Sorry, I’ve got a problem with my D string.”

“Do you have a replacement on you?”

“No,” Dean admitted. He had never replaced his stock once he shoved Charlie in the back of the closet like an obsolete computer.

“We have plenty. Gabriel uses Obligato. What brand do you prefer?”

Cecilio, although Dean would never admit it. Never. They were the Walmart of violin strings.

“Obligatos are fine, sir. My favorite. Thank you so much. I’m sorry for this.”

Novak went over a cabinet in the back of the room and rummaged through it, then ripped open the little packet and handed Dean the string.

“Your hand is injured,” Novak observed mildly as Dean wove the string tightly around the peg.

Dean didn’t answer; he wasn’t sure one was expected and certainly didn’t feel like explaining what had happened.

“You’re using Cecilio strings,” Novak observed a few moments later, just as Dean was feeling more confident. His heart fell again.

“I’m an elementary school teacher,” he explained feebly, as though that was all he needed to say. Which, apparently, it was.

“That wasn’t a criticism of your finances, Dean.” Novak went back to the cabinet and rummaged through it again. “It’s pity for your poor violin. A quality instrument like that should have premium strings. Sam told me it was your father’s.”

“Yes, a Delange.”

He came back and handed Dean three more string packets. “Replace your strings, then come out and play for me. I’ll be sitting a few rows back.”

Dean froze. “Sir, I’m...thank you, but I’m used to these strings, and they’re already broken in. These new ones are going to sound terrible right off the bat.”

“I’ll take that into consideration.”

Novak left the green room, and Dean just sat there, his heart falling further and further into the abyss.

_Great. Now he just feels sorry for me. Exactly what I fucking needed._

Dean reluctantly played on the news strings, cringing in advance and expecting the absolute worst.

“Wow,” he said out loud. “Oh, shit...you sound awesome, Charlie.”

Before he could lose his nerve again, he hurried out to the stage and immediately launched into the Vivaldi piece as soon as he stepped out of the green room. Novak was sitting about 8 rows back. Dean played while he was walking to center stage, realizing he probably should have waited for the man’s command to start, but it was too late now.

_Damn, these strings are the bomb. They must cost a bloody fortune. How am I going to pay him back? Fuck. Can’t ask Sam._

He nearly forgot about Novak as he enjoyed the sound of upgraded Charlie soaring into the far reaches of the concert hall, and deeply regretted not having thought to record this, too.

_Okay brain, shut up and let me enjoy this, for fuck’s sake._

_Novak’s going to be pissed at you for just barging out on the stage and starting._

_I said shut up._

Other than forgetting to take a repeat of 8 bars, Dean was perfect and he knew it. He hadn’t felt this way about playing in ages. Years, perhaps. Teaching took so much energy out of him that he had little time to enjoy the finer things in life, like taking his violin into the bathroom (the acoustics were amazing) and playing his heart out for hours.

_Haven’t done that in forever. You and I have a date tonight, Charlie._

Dean finished the piece, much to his regret. His heart glowed and his body was tingling all over. It was magical. He never wanted it to end. Amazing what a few new strings could do.

_Novak is only being nice to you because he pities you and your Cecilio budget._

Dean stepped to the front of the stage and took a few breaths to calm himself before looking at Novak. He couldn’t see his expression at all.

“Play the Bach. The one you mentioned was your favorite piece.”

“Yes, sir.” Dean launched into the partita that had been his first solo performance as a young teenager. The first piece he had ever memorized forwards and backwards, upside down and inside out. It was as easy as breathing.

“Now the Paganini that you played for me on your first audition.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean said willingly, although he cringed a little. Even so, with these new strings and with the overwhelming confidence surging through his veins, it was actually enjoyable, too. _God damn it, why didn’t I record this? Fucking hell._

When he was finished, Castiel stood up and walked to the foot of the stage and looked up at him.

“If you had played like that the first time, I wouldn’t have wasted a month trying to find someone else. Let’s go to my office and talk.”


	14. Chapter 14

“First things first, Dean,” Novak said as he indicated which chair Dean should sit in. “I want to address what happened with Gabriel over Facebook. I know we already talked about it a little, but I really don’t like to have elephants in the room. So let’s just get this over with.”

“I understand,” Dean said, alarm prickling all the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck. So much for that afterplay glow.

Novak sat down. “As we discussed on the phone, I was very upset with my brother for not offering advice. But I was more upset with you. Have to admit that I still am, and my ability to hold grudges is unfortunately limitless. So it’s hard to separate you as a musician from you as a person who is apparently unable to control himself in certain situations.”

Harsh. Ouch. Dean squirmed in his chair.

“Furthermore,” Novak continued, “I had a video conference call last night with Sam. I didn’t ask about his face, but I’m going to now that I’ve seen your hand.”

Dean preempted the question, keeping his tone level and calm. “Yes, I punched him. He deserved it, and I don’t regret it.”

“Did he hit you back?”

“No, he would never do that. Not when he knows he had it coming.”

Novak fell silent for a minute, then got up and pulled a file out of a drawer. “I want to show you something. You’re an elementary school teacher, so I assume you aren’t overly familiar with budgets and cost accounting.”

“Not really,” Dean admitted. “I took finance and economic classes at college, of course.”

“Not quite the same. I want to show you my budget for this tour. No one else has seen this but my executive team, so I expect you to keep this completely confidential. Seven months, 130 concerts. That means 210 days of travel. Lots of flights. 210 hotel nights for a dozen people. Rental facilities. Crew salaries. Administration. Insurance. That’s not even the half of it. Transportation. Marketing. Take a look at this number.”

Dean looked at the projected cost, and it was like being kicked in the gut.

“Holy shit! Sorry, I mean...that’s a _lot_ of money.”

“Yes. That’s how much I personally have at stake here. What money this tour doesn’t make will come straight out of my own pocket. So you can understand why I’m not going to hire you without some serious caveats and an ironclad contract that details exactly what kind of behavior I expect from you in the next year.”

Dean went numb from head to toe, and his throat closed up. “Wait.  I can’t. I'm not prepared for this level of responsibility. I’m just not. Has Sam seen this?”

“No. I didn’t want to alarm him.”

“Yeah, I can see why. I’m sorry, but there’s literally no way I can do this. I’m so sorry for wasting your time.” Dean was sweating. He got up and slowly edged backwards out the door like he was backing away from an angry bear. “Thank you so much for the opportunity. I can’t tell you how sorry I am for wasting your time. Have a great tour. You don’t have to worry about Sammy, he won’t let you down. Not like I would. Thank you again.”

Dean ignored Novak’s astonishment and fled to his car, driving out of the parking lot like he was racing to the hospital to have a baby. He didn’t notice until he pulled into his parking space at home that he’d left his briefcase and phone behind in Castiel Novak’s office.

_Fuck!_

\---

“Hey Dean.” Sam greeted his brother in wonder as he opened his front door. “You alright?”

“Yeah, Sammy. I’m good.”

“You look like someone ran over Charlie with a steamroller. Come in. What do you want to drink?”

Dean sat down heavily on his brother’s immaculate white couch. “Cyanide. On the rocks.”

Sam ignored that and busily poured his brother a glass of iced tea, then brought it out to him and sat down in the chair across from the couch and fireplace.

“Sam, I need a favor. I left my briefcase and phone behind in Novak’s office. There’s no way I can go back for it. I hate to ask you, but will you please go get them for me?”

“Wow. Sucks. I’m leaving for the airport in half an hour. I can’t make it in time.”

“Shit. Where are you going?”

“Seriously, Dean? Do you tune out everything I say? I thought it was just the compliments.”

Dean buried his head in his hands. “Dude. You have to help me. I’ll pay to change your flight, whatever. Just get them. _Please_.”

“You don’t have any money. Wait, my butt is buzzing.” Sam leaned to the side and pulled his phone out, then showed the screen to Dean.

_Castiel Novak_

“Don’t pick it up!”

Sam smiled and hit accept. “Hey, Cas.”

_Cas????_

“Yeah, Dean’s right here.”

 _I’m gonna fucking kill you,_ Dean mouthed.

“Thank you so much. That’s really kind. See you in Johannesburg in about, what...96 hours? Alright, safe travels. You too.”

He hung up. Dean looked at him in astonishment and disgust. “Wow. BFFs with your boss now? ‘ _Cas?’_ Jesus, Sam. You get this job by sucking his dick, by any chance?”

Sam laughed, but Dean could tell the remark definitely hit a nerve. “He’s sending a courier to my house right now with your shit. You can stay here, but I gotta go.”

“Thank god. Why the fuck are you guys going to Johannesburg?”

“Dunno about him. I’m there for work. We’re going to meet up for dinner. Don’t be jealous.”

“I’m not.”

_Shit. Yes, I am. I absolutely am fucking jealous of my baby brother._

“Whatever you say, Dean. By the way, I already know he was about to hire you and you bugged out in a blind panic. Were you gonna tell me?”

“Nope.”

“Figures. Whatever, Dean.”


	15. Chapter 15

The delivery of Dean’s “shit,” as Sam had put it, took almost two hours to arrive after Sam had left for the airport. In the meantime Dean had imagined all sorts of catastrophic scenarios for why it was taking so long. Maybe Sam was lying. Novak changed his mind, perhaps. It was delivered to the wrong address.

Even worse...what if Novak himself had been conspiring with Sam, and he was about to show up on Sam’s doorstep with Dean’s briefcase and launch his own intervention? It didn’t bear thinking about. Dean was a mess and almost broke into his brother’s liquor cabinet before realizing he still had to drive home. The last thing he needed was another DUI.

When the courier finally arrived, Dean made sure to look out the side window of Sam’s house first to make sure Novak wasn’t there. He wasn’t. There was a bulging envelope attached to the briefcase with tape, and once Dean had tipped the delivery guy with a $10 he found in Sam’s nightstand, he slowly opened it as if it were a bomb. Inside was a formally typed memo on fancy Novak Arts Center stationery.

_Mr. Winchester,_

_Enclosed is a recording of tonight’s audition for your files. You have full permission to use it for your own marketing purposes, etc._

_G. Angel_

_Artistic Director_

Dean tore open the envelope further and pulled out the jump drive. Then he opened his briefcase, dug out his laptop, and shoved in the USB. Upside down at first, of course. As always. Once it was seated the right way, a video automatically popped up and ran in Quicktime without him having to do anything.

He hadn’t recalled seeing cameras in the concert hall at the time, but from viewing the video it was easy to pick out where they had been mounted in the walls. One angle was from the booth. The clarity was stunning. It was just like watching a professionally produced video. Close-ups and everything, from at least four different cameras.

Dean watched it through with no sound, since his speakers didn’t work. But he had seen the expensive microphones hanging from every nook and cranny of the stage. There was no doubt this video would be crucial in getting him gigs and auditions in the future. He hated himself thoroughly for a moment, then took a deep breath and called Sam.

It was 11:30pm, a few minutes before the plane was about to take off. _Pick up, Sam. Pick. Up. The. Fucking. Phone! Sam._

“Hey! I have to turn off my phone in a second.”

“Sam,” Dean began, his words catching in his throat a little. “Dude. I...I fucked up. Man, I really, really, seriously fucked up with Novak today.”

“Yeah, you did. Not just today, either.”

“I’ve just been thinking. That intervention that you and dad tried on me? It pissed me off at the time, but shit, I...I’m so messed up, Sam. I just..I am so fucking messed up right now. Like, I totally get why you tried. The timing could have been better, but I get it now.”

Silence from Sam, for too long.

“You still there?”

Dean heard an annoyed flight attendant in the background telling Sam to turn off his phone.

“Yeah, Dean. I land in Dallas in three hours, that’s my first connection. I’ll call you then, okay? Don’t do anything else stupid. Just stay in my apartment--y _eah I know, I’m hanging up, just a second_ \--Dean? Hang out in my apartment for a while, just stay away from the liquor cabinet. My fridge is kind of low on stuff, but there’s a credit card in my nightstand if you want to order in some food. In fact, I hereby order you to have a good meal tonight, and I don’t care how much it costs.”

“Okay. Thanks Sammy.” Dean had already started to cry, but he kept it out of his voice for Sam’s sake. “Please...don’t tell anyone I called you like this. I’m trusting you.”

“I won’t. The code to order movies on the TV is 90210. Live it up for a few hours, relax, we’ll talk soon. Hang in there, bro.”

“Okay. Have a good flight, Sam.”

“You too. I mean...you know what I mean. Bye.”

The line went dead, and Dean went back to the video and started it over. Then he remembered Sam had Bose headphones attached to his stereo, so he got up and unplugged them, jammed them on his ears, and stuck the jack into his laptop.

Yes, the sound was immaculate. Dean closed his eyes. It was like another person playing, really. He hardly recognized his own sound with those new strings. He anticipated one upcoming bad note, flinched a little, then relaxed as the Bach began. Then the Paganini. Vivaldi again. Twice more listened to all three pieces.

 _Damn. I sounded so good._ He wiped his eyes with the collar of his shirt, then looked at the clock. 12:30am. Too late to order food from any reputable source. At any rate, he had to go to bed. School in the morning.

He decided to check his email for the first time in days, and was utterly astonished to find a brand new message from Novak.

_Dean,_

_I got your email address from your original audition application. I take complete responsibility for your swift departure today. My strategy for trying to reason with you was well-intentioned, but ultimately misguided._

_The tables have turned and I’m finding myself in the unprecedented position of wanting to hire a musician who has no interest in playing with me. I have spent the last few hours drafting up a contract for you to review anyway. There are things you will not like about it, so be prepared for some tough discussion if you wish to proceed._ _  
_ _CN_

Dean read the email again in shock, then held his breath and clicked on the attachment.


	16. Chapter 16

There wasn’t a lot to dislike at first in the contract Novak had sent, even though the salary and benefits fields were completely blank for now, presumably for confidentiality reasons. Dean was okay with that. Any salary had to be better than what he was currently earning.

No drinking on performance days. Check. No illicit drugs at any time, must consent to random drug tests if behavior is suspicious. Check. No media interviews without clearing it through PR first. Check.

It went on and on and on. Must agree to share hotel room with Sam when availability prevents two rooms being booked. Not ideal, but check. Must share most economic mode of private transportation. _Private transportation? Ooo-la-la._

So far, so standard.

Until Dean found the “Mental Health Rider.” _Shit._

He got up to get a drink and a salty snack before he hesitantly dived back into this veritable War & Peace of employment contracts. He was dismayed to find this section had been tailored to address his flaws specifically, rather than using generic verbiage.

_Performer Explicitly Agrees To The Following Terms for One (1) Year From The Date of Hire:_

_-3rd party psychological counseling via phone twice per week for one full hour_

_-3rd party Certified Anger Management program to be completed prior to the start of the tour, and repeated during the year if deemed necessary by CEO_

_-Complete weekly online Wellness courses for the duration of one year, through a program of his own choosing (to be approved by CEO)_

_-3rd party family counseling sessions with John and Sam Winchester, to be-_

Dean stopped reading for a moment in order to breathe and collect himself, without much success. He was going to kill Sam for oversharing Dean’s life story with Novak. He really was. This was it. The end.

He closed the document and returned to the email itself, and didn’t even try to pretend to be diplomatic in his response.

_Mr. Novak,_

_With respect, I think you meant to send this contract to some worn out b-list “celebrity” who is about to check into Malibu rehab for the fifth time. If it really was meant for me, I regret to inform you that our negotiations are officially over._

_Best regards,_

_Dean Winchester_

He was so deeply offended that it was difficult to think straight. He went to click the “send” arrow on the email, but the cursor had frozen. He angrily tried again, then learned via pop-up error message that his trackpad had quit working.

Seconds later, a horrifically loud, grating digital _beeeeeeeeeep_! screamed out while the monitor blue-screened, popped, and flashed to black. Dean cursed roundly and worked for ten minutes to start it back up, to no avail. It was done for.

“Son of a _bitch_!”

——

Dean woke up well before his usual time the next morning and managed to briefly enjoy the luxury of lazing on Sam’s couch with the barely rising sun peeking in through the Venetian blinds. His phone was on the table upside down, and he reluctantly peeked at his text messages. There was one at 3am from Sam.

- _I wasn’t thinking. Landed in Dallas 5am but that’s 3am for you._ _Have a long layover. If you’re awake before 5:30am, call me_

It was 5:15 now. Dean rapidly dialed his brother and was cheered by the fact that ripping him a new one would be a great start to the day, because it could only go uphill from there.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Sam answered sleepily.

“Yep. Top o’ the morning to ya!” Dean chirped obnoxiously.

“Oh god,” Sam moaned. “You’re cheerful. What did I do now?”

“Where do I start, Sammy boy? Not only have you completely lost my trust - _again_ \-  you’ve also lost me as the third member of your trio. Congratulations. Hope you’re proud of yourself.”

There was a very long pause as Sam digested this remark on the other end of the line.

“Are you drinking, Dean? It’s 5am.”

“That’s a great idea. Ask me again in five minutes.”

“What is this about?”

“Novak just sent me a contract that requires all kinds of counseling classes and shit. He wants to fix me. Like I’m some kind of pet project. Gee, I wonder who gave him that idea, SAM?”

Sam huffed loudly. “Yeah, and so what? We’re both worried for your emotional health, Dean. You need support and some serious self-care.”

Dean laughed. “That’s hilarious. Novak is more fucked up than I am. I can’t believe you, Sammy! You’re a lawyer, you should know all about invasion of privacy laws.”

“I didn’t invade your privacy!” Sam insisted. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on, preferably without all this passive aggressive bullshit. You called me for help earlier, so let me help you. Come on.”

Dean felt his anger draining out of him faster than he wanted; sometimes it was exhilarating and fun to be this mad.

“You know what the problem is, Sam? I can’t believe a word you say anymore. You’ve manipulated me and lied to me my whole adult life. I don’t know what happened to you at Stanford, but it ain’t good. We used to watch out for each other. But all I’ve been doing lately is watching my own back so you don’t stab it again.”

“Seriously? I told him you needed counseling and anger management if you were going to survive the tour. Hell, I probably will too after spending so much time with you guys. I didn’t mention your drinking problem either, by the way. If that isn’t watching your back, I don’t what is. So calm the fuck down.”

“ _Former_ drinking problem. You’re still hanging it over my head after all this time. Amazing.”

Silence, then the sound of Sam sniffling on the other end. _Good_.

“I gotta get ready for work, Sam. Have a good trip. See you in the papers.”

Dean hung up, made his way to Sam’s liquor cabinet, and calmly punched in the passcode.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	17. Chapter 17

“Dad?”

“Yeah, Dean. I’m here. What’s up kiddo?”

“I’m…not good.”

“Drunk,” John finished for his oldest with a sigh. “Jesus Christ. It’s noon.”

“Yeah.”

“Wait a second. Yeah, it’s _noon_. On Wednesday. You should be at work. What the hell, Dean?”

Dean’s voice wavered almost to the point where his own dad couldn’t understand him. “That’s the thing. I am at work. Was, rather. Waiting for my, uh, my cab home. I just got fired, dad.”

John closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead vigorously. “I can be there in six hours. Go home and rest. For fuck’s sake, Dean. I don’t even have the words. Two whole years of sobriety down the drain, just like that.”

“Two and a half.”

“Even worse. You’re such a screw-up. Drinking on the fucking job. God, I wish you were more like your brother.”

Dean’s eyes stung hard. “And I wish you were more like mom. Guess we both have to suck it up, buttercup.”

Dean hung up the phone. The taxi was taking way too fucking long. He wasn’t _that_ drunk, really. He walked down the street and looked all around him just to make sure no one was following, ready to call the cops if he took out his car keys. The streets were empty.

He found his Taurus after a few minutes of searching. Less than a mile from home, he badly clipped the curb on a turn and popped a tire. As he pulled over, a police officer rolled alongside to ask if he needed help.

“Son, you’re looking mighty unsteady,” he observed as Dean sat on the curb to study his damaged tire more closely.

“I’m tired, sir,” Dean lied, flushing hotly as he tried not to panic.  “Took that corner too sharp. I shouldn’t have skipped the Red Bull this morning. Overnight shifts are killing me.”

“Do you want me to call you a tow truck?”

Dean smiled dazzlingly. “No, I’m not a tow truck, officer. You can just call me Dean.”

The officer eyed him critically, then sighed and threw his car into park and got out. “Alright, I’m gonna need you to get up and try to walk a straight line for me. Come on.”

\------

Dean thought of declining his one phone call that the jail allowed. Who was he going to call, anyway? Sam was flying to Africa. His dad, then? No, he didn’t need to get chewed out yet again. There was literally no one else who cared about him.

But as the line for the phone got shorter, and shorter, he realized he _had_ to call dad. The man was on the way to him from Las Vegas, and would be absolutely frantic if he didn’t hear from his son for almost an entire day. He couldn’t put him through that, no matter how much he hated the depressing things they always said to each other.

“Hey dad,” he began tentatively. “Um. Don’t freak out or anything, but...I’m in jail.”

“You’re joking.”

“No. The cab took too long so I took my car, and I hit a curb, and the police officer who came to help me ended up arresting me so I’m stuck here for 24 hours.”

“For fuck’s sake, Dean. I can’t believe you!”

“Yeah. I know. And don’t think I’m calling to ask you to bail me out. I’m not. I just didn’t want you to panic when you got to my place and I wasn’t there. I gotta go, dad. Lots of people waiting in line for the phone. Bye.”

\-----

When Dean walked out of the jail the next day, blinded by sunlight and nearly ready to drop from exhaustion and emotion, he ran straight into a man who was blocking his way to the bus stop.

“There you are.”

Dean shaded his eyes and looked up, then groaned. “Oh, fuck. Hi dad.”

John latched gently onto his arm and walked him to the waiting Impala in the lot behind an alley. “I’m not here to fight. Taking you to breakfast. What are you hungry for?”

“Food in general would be good. How long have you been waiting?”

“Four hours. So relieved to see you. I wasn’t even sure which jail you were in. Thank god you’re okay.”

Dean could hear the catch in John’s throat; the unsteadiness of his voice from trying to hold all the emotion back.

“I’m okay, dad. Don’t freak out.”

“When is your sentencing hearing?”

“A week from today, they said.”

“Jesus, Dean, you’re really determined to wreck your life.”

Dean started to pull away, but John held on.

“I thought you said you weren’t here to fight?”

“I’m not. We’ll save that for later, after I have your hide. I didn’t tell Sam what happened, because he’s having dinner with Novak tomorrow night.”

Dean sighed in relief. “Oh my god, thank you.”

They went to have breakfast at a shitty diner known for holding classic car shows in the parking lot, but didn’t talk much.

“Were you serious about having my hide, dad?” Dean asked in trepidation.

“Absolutely.”

Dean looked down at his plate; his appetite was gone.

“I’m 26.”

“You don’t even act half that. Tell you what, though. I won’t give it to you without your permission.”

Dean’s heart jolted. “You can’t be serious, dad. Come on. I’m never going to agree to that.”

“I think you will. We’ll talk later. Eat.”

\------

Back at Dean’s apartment, John gave Dean a ferocious lecture that reduced his son to snot and tears within five minutes. _The people you could have killed. Yourself, too. No respect for the sanctity of human life, no sense of responsibility._

“What I said earlier. I’m going to take off my belt now and ask you to stand up. If you don’t do so within ten seconds, I’ll willingly accept your refusal and leave without any argument.”

He pulled the leather through his jeans and folded it double.

“Stand up, Dean.”

Dean got to his feet.


	18. Chapter 18

_When we hit our lowest point, we are open to our greatest change..._

Dean avoided his dad’s piercing gaze as he stood and looked around the apartment. His dining room table was glass, so that wouldn’t do. His kitchen counters were too high for the task.

“Um. Where do you want me?”

“You decide. This is your show.”

Dean grimaced. “My show.”

“Poor choice of words. Sorry, kiddo,” John said apologetically. “I meant that I just want you to do this on your accord. When you were little it was all me calling the shots. Boy, the way you and Sam would fight me, though. You’d think I was threatening to tear your fingernails off with pliers.”

“Yeah. Simpler times, huh?”

John slapped the belt idly against his thigh as he reminisced. “You two were such a pair. Always getting in trouble together. Sam refused to cry and wouldn’t talk to me for days afterwards. You’d bawl like a baby, but forgive me right away. I wonder what celestial being decided you two should be so different in so many ways.”

“Maybe you’re not my real father,” Dean joked lightly. “Or Sam’s.”

“Hmmm. You’re definitely mine, at least. Enough stalling. Let’s do this.”

Dean hesitated. “Wait. Um. I know I'm agreeing to this, dad, but it’s incredibly weird. You have to promise me you won’t tell Sam. I’d die of shame, I’m serious. Literally, my death will be on your head.”

“I won’t. Shame isn’t the point, anyway. You do know why we’re doing this, right?”

“Because I’m a royal fuck-up and need to be punished to balance out my karma.”

John shook his head. “Whatever jail sentence you get will be your punishment. Try again.”

Dean stared at his dad blankly. “Because you’re mad at me for being a dumbass.”

“Yes and no. I’ll admit to spanking you one too many times out of anger back in the day, but there’s something I regret a lot more than that. Saying I wished you were more like your brother. Learned today that isn’t true.”

“Don’t start kissing my ass, dad. I know it’s true,” Dean replied glumly.

“Nah. Sam never learned anything from being punished except how to get better at not getting caught. You, though? You always made the effort to change and improve. You took the lessons to heart, almost too much. Sam never took responsibility for his actions. Still doesn’t. Probably why he’s such a good lawyer, because he’s an expert at shifting blame.”

“I’m not following, dad. What does this have to do with…” he gestured vaguely at the belt and audibly gulped.

“Everything. You rarely made the same mistake twice back then. But you turned 18 and went out on your own. Adulthood brings everyone new problems and new behaviors, but suddenly no one was there to prompt you to change them.”

“ _Prompt_ me. As in, beat my ass.”

“We all have different motivators, Dean. Different ways of cleansing ourselves of guilt and regret. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Mine was sex for a while, then marijuana. Now it’s therapy. We are who we are.” He lifted the strap. “If this is what you need, and I think it is, I’ll give it to you, because the alcohol option ain’t working anymore.”

“It never was,” Dean admitted stiffly. He was crying. Again. _Damn, I’m such a girl these days!_

John was still as a boulder, his face concerned but stern. “So. Do you want to give this a try and see if it helps?”

“Not really, but I see your point. It makes sense, I guess. Just try not to kill me.”

“Let’s get to it, then. You’ve got to decide how many, because this isn’t about me taking anything out on you. It’s an attempt to help you regain control. You’re officially at rock bottom, kiddo. And it’s been a long time coming. Three DUIs. The fourth one will be a felony.”

“Yeah.” Dean wiped his tears away with his sleeve. “Just...just give me a sec? Gotta piss.”

Dean didn’t wait for an answer before he fled into the bathroom and locked the door. He stared at himself in the mirror and saw only a shell looking back. A scared manchild of a shell. He really didn’t want to do this, had no idea how many he “needed,” and was having serious second thoughts about this being the best course of action.

It wasn’t fair. He wanted forgiveness, not a beating. Novak hadn’t forgiven him for his words about Gabriel and even admitted he’d hold a grudge forever. His dad obviously hadn’t forgiven him for...anything, really. Sam wouldn’t forgive him for bailing on the trio. And never mind Dean ever forgiving himself. That wasn’t going to happen in a million years, so why even bother.

And then there was Lisa, of course, and all the drunken, desperate texts he’d sent her over the past month while he was busy spiraling down into his most recent abyss. She never answered, and there were no “read” receipts. Blocked, so no chance of forgiveness there, either.

After twenty minutes of agonized debate with his perpetually chatty internal dialogue, Dean pulled himself up off the toilet lid and threw cold water all over his face. Then he took a deep breath and went back out the living room.

His dad was sitting on the couch reading “Popular Science.”

Dean walked up to him and steeled himself. “I’ve made about 5,000 mistakes in the last 8 years. But I can’t take that many at once. So how about 50?”

John stood up and picked his belt off the table. “We’ll go one at a time, and you tell me when you’ve had enough. Remember, Dean, you’re in total control of this. You want this, and I’m not beating you. So don’t say that again, please.”

Dean nodded, pulled out a dining room chair and bent over it, then held on tight and closed his eyes.


	19. Chapter 19

“What’s the first one for?” John asked.

“What?”

“What do you want to forgive yourself for first?”

 _Forgiveness. Ha. Yeah, right_. “For punching Sam, I guess.”

“You _guess_? Are you sure? Say it.”

“I want to forgive myself for punching Sam.”

“Okay. Ready?” John waited for Dean’s reluctant grunt of affirmation, then aimed at his sweats-clad ass and swung the belt. It landed with a deafening _thwack_ that echoed off the walls of the sparsely furnished apartment

“ _Ow_! _Fuck_!” Dean complained angrily as he leaped out of range and vigorously rubbed his rear. “Jesus, dad. You been lifting weights or something?” he demanded without any trace of his usual black humor.

John waited calmly for Dean to stop swearing and collect himself. In vain, perhaps, if his oldest’s murderous expression was any indication; it looked probable that this dubious experiment was already over.

“This would hurt less if you leaned against the wall.”

“Hell no! We’re done.” Dean was wildly furious, as John fully expected. And wanted. “Fuck this forgiveness shit. Sam deserves it, not me! He tricked me into taking that call with Novak, and he _lied_ outright about it not being planned. I should have have kicked him in the nuts for good measure!”

“So...you’re saying you have nothing to forgive yourself for, then.”

“Didn’t say that. Do I need to repeat myself?”

“Apparently you do, since you clearly weren’t listening to yourself. You most certainly did say that, and you’re right.”

Dean paused, breathing hard. He didn’t have an answer for that. No earthly idea how to answer.

“That fucking hurt, dad,” he finally said as he waddled back to the chair. “Ease up a bit. Shit. You _gotta_ startskipping arm day.”

“Ease up? Thought we were done.”

Dean bent back over the chair again. “I’m gonna rephrase that first one. I want to forgive myself for failing to control my temper. Hurry before I lose my damned nerve.”

John murmured approvingly and swung again, not as hard, but it was still enough to make Dean leap up again and roundly swear at him. Much to John’s surprise, however, he went back to the chair almost right away.

“Dean-”

“You said it’s my show, right? New rule. I’m not going to tell you what they’re for. Just do it.”

“Fine, but you have to give the okay for each one, and I’m gonna stop when I think you’ve had enough.”

Dean held on tightly to the seat.

“Do it.” _This one is for the Facebook disaster...THWACK_

“Go.” _This one is for letting my kiddos down and missing their graduation next month...THWACK_

 _“_ Fuck!” Dean popped up again and rubbed his ass, half-expecting to see his hands dripping with blood when he looked at them again. There was nothing, of course.

“Relax, Dean, I’m not slicing you in half. Gonna hurt more if you’re all tensed up.”

“Feels like a freakin’ bullwhip. Okay, why did I say 50? There’s no way. One more, but give me a moment.”

Dean turned away from his dad and took a deep breath to collect himself and try to slow his heartbeat. This was utterly agonizing, and he hated himself for ever agreeing to it.

John was frozen in place, not moving, half-hurting and half-hopeful.

Dean gathered up his courage and went back to the chair again. _Fuck it. I deserve this. And more. This is for Lisa. The first of many._ “Okay, dad. Three in a row. Just do it, don’t ask. Go hard.”

Dean didn’t flee between strokes this time. He just took it. Submitted.

Then he broke down completely.

John dropped the belt and caught his son as he fell to the ground and burst into another round of messy, snotty tears. He held him tightly and stroked his hair soothingly like he used to do when the boys were little and got spanked for their childish mischief.

John’s throat suddenly hurt from the effort of holding back an avalanche of tears.

_Simpler times..._

\------

Dean woke up to a bottle of water being held to his lips.

“Whaaaaat,” he grumbled irritably as his pillow was gently pushed away from his face.

“Hey, kiddo. A little worried you’re gonna get dehydrated. Been asleep for a long time.”

“Mouth feels like sand,” he agreed. “Gross.”

John sat next to his son on the bed and pulled the blanket back over him where it had started falling to the floor.

“How long...asleep?” Dean mumbled.

“Eleven hours. You must have to piss.”

“Hmmm. No. Weird. Tired.” He drank the entire bottle. “Dad...I…”

“Shhhh. Plenty of time to talk later. Sweet dreams, kiddo.” He stood back up.

“No, wait. Was gonna ask if…”

“What, Dean?”

“If you want pizza.”

John smiled a little. “Of course. I’ll order it. Extra pineapple, right?”

“Oh my god. I hate you.”

John wasn’t quite cheered up enough to laugh yet, but something in his heart did lighten a little.

“Okay. Went and got you a present while you were zonked out. I’ll show you after I order the pizza. Be right back.”

—-

“What’s that,” Dean asked groggily as John set a bag down on the floor.

“A little something. I cleaned up your apartment again, got some groceries and stuff. Found your laptop in the trash. You get mad at it and break it?”

“Nope. Old. Exploded.”

“As they do.” John sighed and hefted the bag onto the bed. “I made a little trip to the Apple Store.”

Dean froze. “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

Dean bolted up and tore into the bag, letting out an astonished yelp when he pulled out a brand new MacBook Air.

“Are you fucking serious right now? Why, dad? I don’t des-“

“Don’t you dare say you don’t deserve nice things,” John snapped as Dean visibly deflated.

“But I don’t.” Dean had tears in his eyes as he put it back in the bag and set it on the floor. “Take it back, dad. I don’t want it.”  
  



	20. Chapter 20

Dean fell back to sleep for another few hours and awoke to an empty apartment. He had no idea what day or time it was, since he couldn’t locate his phone. Not that he tried very hard to find it; truth be told, it was liberating to be free of it. No calendar and no work emails meant no responsibilities or burdens for a change. Not to mention the lack of angry texts from Sam and all the spam email notifications.

He yanked the doors open to his fridge and poked around for a bit, confused and a little dismayed at first until he realized what was wrong. His dad had removed all the beer. He spun around and pulled open some cabinet doors. All the liquor was gone, too.

Well...that was that. He took a ginger ale out instead, and reheated two slices of pizza. No pineapple.

The Macbook was on the dining room table, still in the box, unopened. He put in the HVAC closet, where it was least likely to be found by a burglar (because the way his luck worked lately, a home invasion was next on the agenda).

Something else was weird about the apartment, and he couldn’t quite figure it out. He felt different; his environment strangely out of sync with his memories from before his olympic sleepathon. He walked around to each room four times, trying to suss out what was making him so unnerved, and was unable to come up with any answers.

Just as he was settling on the couch and about to dig into his pizza, he heard his phone ringing from between the cushions. So much for the peace and quiet. He dug it out and figured it was dad calling, but it wasn’t; he didn’t recognize the number.

“Dean Winchester.”

“This is the Los Angeles County courthouse automated message service line. Your...SENTENCING HEARING… will take place on ...MAY...TENTH  at ONE...O’CLOCK...PM in... ROOM 205. Press 1 to confirm you have received this message.”

Dean sighed and pressed 1.

“Thank you.” The disembodied voice repeated the date and time, then disconnected. Dean felt his heart pounding erratically as he forced himself to record the appointment on his phone’s calendar.

Then it dawned on him that he had no idea what his possible sentence could be. On his first DUI, he was only fined $400. On his second, he received the same fine and 96 hours in jail. He quickly pulled up Google on his phone and nervously searched for California’s sentencing guidelines.

He blanched violently when he found the information, then ran into the bathroom and threw up his pizza.

\----

“Wait...you  _ waived _ your right to a trial? What the fuck, Dean?”

“Yeah, Sam! That’s what the lawyer said to do. The one who came to see me in jail. Why would he do that? I’m totally freaking out. You gotta help me.”

“Dean, I’m a corporate lawyer, and I’ve been on the job for like 5 months. What limited background I have is solely in contract negotiations for diamond mining companies. Not to mention I’m quitting in two weeks to go full time with Cas.”

Dean was about to hyperventilate. “Okay, well you gotta know somebody who deals with this shit. I’m about to pass out.”

“Okay, hang on. Don’t do that. Read me exactly what the statue says. Verbatim.”

Dean took a deep breath. “There are four sections that apply to me. A fine up to $1,000. Minimum 120 days in jail.  _ Minimum. _ The maximum is a year. Three years license suspension. Five years of probation. All of those things! I don’t get to pick and choose.”

Sam was silent for a few beats. “Oh, shit,” he said quietly. “Dude, I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’ll check around with all my contacts. First things first, we gotta get you a lawyer immediately, no matter what I find out.”

“I have a public defender.”

“They’re not good. Paid shit wages and overloaded with way too many cases. Let me make some calls. Give me like an hour, I’ll call you back.”

“Shit, I am so screwed. What time is it there in Johannesburg?”

“Almost 6pm. I’m 9 hours ahead of you, and I’m supposed to be having dinner with Cas at 7. I gotta get on this, Dean. Call you back.”

He hung up. Dean went back into the bathroom and threw up again.

\----

Sam didn’t call back on time; it was three hours later when Dean’s phone rang again with yet another number he didn’t recognize. He swallowed down the bile that rose up into his throat and accepted the call.

“This is Dean.”

“Dean. This is Castiel Novak.”

_ Fucking hell, of all the bad timing in the world… _

“Um....”

“I just had dinner with Sam and he told me of your situation.”

_ Of course he did, because he’s fucking Sam No-Filter Winchester!  _ “May I ask why he thought that you needed to know about it?” Dean asked tightly. Angrily.

“He was very late for dinner because of the calls he was making for you. I was upset with him, so he explained it very briefly, and it’s a good thing he did. My half-brother Michael is exactly the type of lawyer that you need to get advice from. He’s going to call you in 15 minutes, so make sure you answer. It will be from an 818 area code.”

Dean had a strong urge to find a cliff and leap off of it. “I’m so...you must think I’m the worst person in the world. I’m so fucking embarrassed, you have no idea. I mean, you’re my brother’s boss, and... _ shit _ . I’m so sorry, Mr. Novak. I just want to die right now, to be honest.”

“You’re not the worst person I know, no. But certainly the most troubled. Talk to Michael as long as you need. He won’t charge you.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. Novak.”

“You’re welcome. Good luck.”

  
  
  
  
  



	21. Chapter 21

“Mr. Winchester, this is Castiel’s brother Michael. I assume he talked to you and let you know I’m calling.”

Dean gulped hard, and drank more ginger ale to help settle his violently churning stomach.

“Yes, sir. Please call me Dean. Only my fifth graders call me Mr. Winchester.”

_Oops...former fifth graders, rather._

“Where are you right now?”

“At my apartment in Culver City.”

“Give me your address. I’ll be over in about 20 minutes.”

Dean quickly gave his address, and Michael hung up. Dean ran around his apartment and cleaned up what little mess he had made since his dad had left, then put on his best suit and shaved.

Michael’s arrival was actually over an hour later, but it wasn’t like Dean was going to complain whatsoever.

“Thank you so much for coming, sir,” Dean gushed gratefully as the tall, slim man came in to sit at the dining room table and took a pad of paper out of his briefcase, along with a selection of several nice pens.

“You’re welcome. Castiel so very rarely asks for favors that I tend to jump when he needs me. Not sure of his connection to you?”

“Oh. My brother works for him now. He’s the cellist in his new trio. And I’m kind of up for a job with him now, too. On violin.”

Dean thought it was strange that Michael didn’t know that, but he didn’t say so. Michael was quiet for a while as he read Dean’s jail discharge papers.

“Not to scare you, Dean, but you made a huge mistake waiving your right to trial.”

“I know.” Dean was wringing his hands while Michael watched him thoughtfully. “You had a lawyer come visit you in jail. Tell me everything he said.”

Dean did, and Michael frowned deeper and deeper as Dean went on. Then he was completely silent for a number of minutes as he wrote it all down.

“So…” Dean prompted in sheer agony; the last thing he wanted to do was rush the only person who could help him. “What should I do?”

Michael sighed. “Castiel mentioned you’re _troubled_. His word, not mine. If I represent you, are you going to be a huge public embarrassment to him?”

Dean stared at him. “I’m not sure what you mean?”

“If I advocate for you, will Castiel regret it later down the line? Having your name connected to mine, and thereby to his?”

“No, sir,” Dean said firmly. “With respect, your brother would have never asked you to help me if he thought I was an embarrassment to him. Not with as much as he has at stake.”

Dean nearly choked on his own words.

_Castiel Novak is not embarrassed by me. Even with everything he has at stake._

“Alright. Well, I have some good news for you. This is a clear-cut case of attorney misconduct. You were not informed of your options, the consequences for the options you took, or the procedure for revoking your plea before the sentencing date was set. This asshole of a lawyer was obviously trying to hurry through it to get home in time to beat his wife before dinner, or something. Not only that, he gave you the wrong date of the hearing and now you’re left with limited time to prepare. I can’t get this thrown out entirely, because you blew a .09, but I can guarantee you right now that you won’t get more than 30 days in jail. If that.”

“Oh my god. Are you serious?” Dean didn’t dare to breathe; it seemed almost too good to be true.

Michael hesitated. “I have an hour, Dean. I want you to tell me exactly what Castiel meant when he called you troubled. Don’t leave anything out. After you’re done talking, I’ll make a decision whether or not to represent you.”

Dean gulped. “I...I have no money to pay you to represent me. Like, less than zero. I’m unemployed and in debt.”

“Oh. Castiel didn’t mention that part.” Michael seemed put out and irritated by this sudden change in tack. “That’s going to be a problem. I’m very expensive. You should probably find a cheaper lawyer.”

“I don’t have time, or the money. The hearing is tomorrow. My brother is loaded. Please just let me call him real quick, okay?”

Michael nodded reluctantly, and Dean raced into his bedroom and called Sam.

\---

“You want me to _what_ ?” Sam thundered. “Hell no, Dean. Jesus, maybe you _should_ go jail for a year. Probably would set you straight!”

Dean was crying (again!), but he kept his tone calm and level. “Sam, I swear to you. I...something has changed in me already. I woke up today feeling like, really weird, really off. Then I realized it was like a burden had been lifted. So much calmer.”

“Oh, that’s convenient,” Sam snorted.

“I’m serious!”

“Oh, and what caused this magical overnight change?”

Dean hesitated. “Dad and I had a really good talk. He’s really trying to help me, because I want to be helped now. Sam, I literally have nowhere to go from here but up. You gotta help me, or I’m going to spiral back down again even further than I was before. I just know it.”

There was very long silence from Sam. “I’m calling dad. I want to verify this talk you guys allegedly had.”

Dean blushed hotly. There was no hope for it now; thanks to Sam’s big mouth everyone in the world was going to know Dean Winchester’s father spanked his 26-year old son. “Fine, do it. Hurry, or else Michael’s going to leave.”

Dean went back out to the living room, seized by the fear that Michael had snuck out while he was on the phone with Sam. No, Michael was out on the balcony with the door shut, talking on the phone. He turned around to look at Dean, then went back inside and held out his phone.

“Castiel wants to talk to you.”

  



	22. Chapter 22

“Yes, Mr. Novak,” Dean greeted shakily, not even trying to hide his wobbly, teary tone of voice.

“Dean, I can’t imagine how frightened you are right now. Take a deep breath. I’m going to pay for Michael to represent you. It’s going to be alright. Tell him everything, don’t hold back. He’ll help you get your sentence down to a bare minimum.”

“I can’t accept that, but thank you,” Dean answered automatically, without hesitation. “There’s no reason for you to do that, because I can never repay you.”

“Yes, you can.”

_Silence._

“What do you mean?” Dean croaked.

“Exactly what you think I mean,” Castiel replied calmly. “I know you got the contract I sent you, because it had a read receipt and tracking on it. You opened every page except for the last four, so I know precisely where you stopped reading and understand why you never responded. It’s exactly what I expected, frankly.”

Dean darted a glance at Michael, who was watching him with a placid but curious expression. “I just want to make sure I’m understanding this correctly. If I sign that contract, you’ll pay my legal fees? Extortion, basically? That’s so messed up, I don’t even know how to-”

“No!” Castiel replied harshly, and Dean held the phone away from his ear in stunned surprise for a moment. “You completely misunderstand me.”

“How? It seems crystal clear to me.”

“I’ve already told Michael I’m paying. It’s done. Period. What I’m trying to tell you is that if you come work for me, you’ll soon have the funds to pay me back, and you won’t have to feel guilty about me assisting you. Does that make sense now?”

Dean sat down hard. This was too much. “No. I made it clear I don’t want to work for you.”

“Why not? Just because you saw my budget?”

“That too, but...I’m...you’re a freakin’ _legend_. I’m a 26 year old unemployed, broke, side-gigging musician with a criminal record and a fondness for Cecilio strings. Not to mention I know with one hundred percent certainty that I’m not the best violinist you’ve heard in the past month.”

“I see,” Castiel replied calmly. “You want to know why I’ve chosen you. Why didn’t you just ask me that in the first place?”

“Because you’re freaking me out, to be honest. I feel like you mostly want to hire me for my looks because you think it’s good marketing, and that upsets me.”

“You _feel_ like it? Dean, you _know_ that. I told you that a week ago. The classical music world is rapidly aging out of its audience, and younger faces bring younger, bigger crowds. The fact that you and Sam are brothers is a huge and nearly irresistible bonus. I literally told you that outright. You still came back to audition for me again afterwards, so obviously it didn’t bother you that much. Why now?”

“I don’t know,” Dean admitted.

“As for not being the best violinist I’ve heard, you’re correct. You weren’t, by far. But you can be, with strict discipline and guidance. By the way, Sam is also obliged to go through my technique retraining program before the tour. He was farther down on my cellist list than you were on my violinist list. But you two were the only ones who I felt have the ingredients to become famous musicians in your own right, as all my previous proteges have become.”

That threw Dean for a loop, and his anger drained away rapidly. Now he was just really, really intrigued by all the things that made Castiel Novak tick.

“Alright. So if I say no outright and we never speak again, you’ll still pay my legal fees?

“Yes.”

“Why? You don’t even know me.”

“It’s a gamble. I like to take risks, obviously. You’re a huge risk, but the rewards are big for both of us. I do find it hypocritical, though, that you’re offended by my wanting to use you for marketing, since you clearly said you were auditioning in order to use _my_ fame to boost _your_ own career. We have the same goal. The only difference between us is that I wasn’t mad at you for saying it.”

Dean had nothing to respond to that; the truth gut-punched him in the stomach.

“So...the other violinists were ugly old farts or something?” he asked lightly.

“No. I had eight violinists on my possible hire list, but half of them were too arrogant and the other half couldn’t commit to an entire 7-month tour.”

“Well, I’m telling you, Mr. Novak...it’s a strange world when Dean Winchester is the best you can manage.”

“As I said, you’re not the best I can get.” _Ouch._ “But you’re the one I want. I’m going to revise the contract and resend it to you. In the meantime, Michael will take on your case.”

Dean’s stomach churned again at the thought of what Novak had said earlier. He looked around for Michael, who was out on the balcony placidly smoking a cigarette.

“May I ask what you meant by strict discipline?”

“It will be in the contract. There’s a reason you won’t find me taking the same musicians on more than one tour. They tend to ultimately find me too hard-headed in this particular subject area.”

“How so?”

“Well, I like to use early curfews or pay forfeiture for those who make careless mistakes, or who are dishonest or disrespectful. It doesn’t happen often, we’re all adults. I once had a singer who showed up to a performance with a hangover, and I caned him afterwards.”

“C-c- _caned_ him?” Dean repeated in shock.

“He specifically permitted it in his contract, which most people opt out of.”

“Oh, shit.”

“You should also know I forbid my team to swear at all times.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No problem. I’m going to send the contract within the next six hours or so. Keep an eye out for it.”

“Yes, sir. Will do.”

 


	23. Chapter 23

Michael was fussing with plants on the patio when Dean slid open the door to silently return the cell phone.

“You’ve all but killed these herbs,” Michael remarked irritably. “Whether you have a green thumb or a black thumb makes no difference if you’re going to dehydrate them to death.”

Dean nodded automatically. He’d forgotten he even had plants at all lately. “Alright so...looks like I need to tell you everything that happened.”

“Water these poor bastards first, then we’ll talk. Need to send an email and it’s going to take a few minutes.”

Feeling like a bratty teenager who’d just been given extra chores, Dean grudgingly did as he was told while he thought about what to say. Michael didn’t need to know _everything_ , of course. All he needed to know for now was what happened that day; everything else was just unnecessary detail that would only paint him as a worse person than the story already clearly indicated.

“Alright, Dean,” Michael began as he finished his email and started up a new blank Word document. “We have fifteen minutes for you to tell me what happened. Don’t leave anything out. Sit down.”

Dean bit back a retort; he hated being ordered around in his own apartment. Like dad and Sam always did. But his refusal to sit wasn’t because of that. He told the entire story while pacing around the room, starting with how he had unlocked Sam’s liquor cabinet at 5:30am and ending with the discharge from jail and running into dad. Michael typed studiously the entire time.

“Why were you drinking so early? What upset you?”

“My brother. He invaded my privacy, big time.”

“And _that_ was your reason to get knackered before sunrise?”

“Mr. Novak wasn’t lying when he said I was troubled. Can I ask you a question now?”

Michael looked up at him from his laptop. “That’s what I’m here for, no?”

“Well,” Dean said with hesitation, “it’s kind of a personal question. You and Gabriel are also half-brothers to each other, right?”

“Yes. The three of us had the same father. Why are you asking?”

“I was curious why you all have different last names, that’s all.”

“Why is that important?”

“Because I literally know nothing about you. I’m putting the rest of my life in _your_ hands, and would kinda like to know who I'm dealing with before I have to pay back a bazillion dollars for your services.”

“Don’t exaggerate. It’ll probably be around $30,000. My first step will be delaying your sentencing hearing so we have time to get a strategy together. I need to go handle that in person. I’ll call you around 10 PM. Are you usually awake that late?”

Dean could hardly find his voice to reply. _$30,000 fucking dollars!_ “Yeah, I mean, it’s not like I have a whole lot on my agenda right now. So...does this mean you’ve chosen to represent me?”

He sniffed haughtily. “I actually don’t want to, but Castiel can be very…persuasive, let’s say. I’ll do everything I can to make this painless and quick for both of us. If possible.”

He repacked his briefcase while Dean experienced the bitterly unpleasant sensation of being doused with a huge bucket of ice water. He had truly thought Michael _wanted_ to help him, but now that it appeared Castiel had forced him to? F _uck._

“Wait. You know what? Forget it. I’m not some kind of charity case. I don’t need your help.”

“Don’t start that with me,” replied Michael offhandedly. “Your only job now is to stay home and stop drinking, and get your shit together for the hearing. Send your best suit out for dry cleaning and google _how to behave in court_.”

Dean bristled, as he was prone to do when being condescended to. “You guys may not share last names, but you definitely share the same shitty attitude.”

“My, my. Aren’t you one to talk?”

“Are you always this contemptuous of your clients?” Dean demanded.

“Not at all. You’re a special case.”

He left with no further words, and Dean stared after him down the hallway. His blood was boiling as he stormed back into his apartment and slammed the door, and he automatically went to his cabinets and searched for a bottle of...anything, really. No, not Gatorade. _Fuck._

It was too late to call Sam. Dean decided to call his dad and started dialing just as there was another knock. His blood instantly boiled again as he thought of the possibility of Gabriel coming back to spew more contempt at him. Thankfully it wasn’t him.

“Dad? Where have you been?”

“Who was that guy that just left?”

“A total dick, for starters. One of Novak’s brothers.”

John was deeply confused, of course, not having been privvy to anything in the last few hours. “I think you better explain. First tell me how you’re feeling.”

Dean shuddered. “My ass hurts.” That was an understatement of the century; the constant burning and bruising sensation that flared up with every slight brush of material on his backside had nearly brought him to tears on several occasions. Never mind what having to bend over or stand up did to him.

“No doubt. How are you feeling emotionally? Mentally?”

“Fine, dad. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Too bad, we’re talking about it. I left you alone today because I thought you might need some space, but you aren’t rid of me yet.”

Dean felt his cheeks burn red, as they always did when he had to talk about his feelings. “The pain is a distraction, at least.”

“Been feeling sorry for yourself today?”

“Of course.” As soon as he said it, Dean realized it wasn’t the truth. He actually _hadn’t_ been moping around feeling sorry for himself today. At all. Scared about his future, yes, but...that was different.

“Well, it’s early days. You’ll get there. Tell me about this visit from Novak’s brother.”

 


	24. Chapter 24

“So you basically just sold your soul to Castiel Novak,” John concluded after his son was done explaining the situation.

“There is no _basically_. That’s exactly what I did.”

“Sam could have helped you.”

“He said no.”

John set down his bottle of root beer with a decisive clank.  “I’ll call him.”

“No you won’t, dad. Stay out of it.” He caught the look that his dad gave him and added a belated, meek, “please.”

“Oh you better believe I’m getting involved.”

“Dad!” Dean pleaded, already knowing it was useless, and this was a lost cause. John Winchester always did what he wanted and got what he wanted. But then he remembered something: Sam had said he was going to call their dad to confirm they really did have “the talk” Dean mentioned.

“Wait a second, dad. This morning I called Sam after I got the message from the courthouse. He said he was going to call you. Did he?”

John retrieved his phone from his back pocket and scrolled through the missed calls list. “Nope. Call me about what?”

Dean’s heart fell yet again. Of course Sam wouldn’t keep his word, because that was Sam.

“Fuck. Nothing. Forget it. He’s not going to help me, dad.”

“But you said he’s the one that got Novak’s brother involved in the first place?”

“Yeah, but I mean financially he won’t help. You know how he is. I still...”

John looked at him sideways. “You still what?”

“Um...I still owe him money.”

“Oh that’s just fucking grand. So you’re beholden to him, too. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Dean just shook his head and looked at the floor.

“Fine. On another subject, your tire’s replaced. That’s what I was out doing today. So now you can drive to court for your hearing.”

Dean felt a lump form in his throat. “Thanks, dad. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Where’s the Macbook?”

“In...in its box.”

“Figures. If you don’t open it by the end of the month I’m taking it back. Look, Dean, I’m a little bit pissed right now, so I’m going head out before I say something I’m going to regret. Let me know when you hear from Michael again.”

“Okay. I’m sorry. _Please_ don’t call Sam. He can’t do anything, I already made my choice. It’s done. Let it go, dad. And for god’s sake don’t tell him about the belt thing.”

“So you’re just gonna sign any old contract Novak sends you? Just like that? Happy to let him walk all over you now that you’re desperate?”

Dean shook his head. “No, I’m not gonna sign it ‘just like that.’ I’m going to read every word and go over it line by line with Sam. He’s a contracts lawyer, remember? He won’t give me a dime, but he’ll do that at the very least so he can pat himself on the back and hold it over my head for the rest of his life.”

John gave his oldest some of his infamous side-eye. “Watch yourself. Don’t forget he’s the reason you have Michael to help you.”

“Oh yeah, I won’t forget that. Believe me,” Dean shot back sarcastically. “He’s the reason I’m in this fucking DUI mess in the first place”.

John took a step back and folded his arms, studying his son critically. He looked like he wanted to pull off his belt again, but refrained from making the threat. “How much do you owe him?”

“That’s between me and him.”

“Okay. And how much is Michael going to charge?”

“He didn’t say,” Dean lied brazenly.

“Right. Wanna try that again?”

Dean gulped, then took a deep breath. “Thirty thousand.”

John stared at his son in disbelief. “Okay. I’m leaving now and calling Sam. I won’t tell him about the belt. But you are _not_ agreeing to this deal, and that’s final. Don’t even think of arguing about it.”

“I’m an adult, dad! I agreed to it already, and _that’s_ what’s final. I’m doing this. I’m taking the job, and I’m doing this. Like it or not.”

“We’ll see about that,” John growled. “Where’s the Mac? I’m taking it back now before you can sell it for alcohol.”

Dean pointed at the HVAC closet as his fury instantly rose at the implication. John took the computer and stormed out, leaving his son open-mouthed and red-faced in the middle of the living room.

“Fuck this,” Dean blurted out loud a minute later as he grabbed his car keys from the hook by the front door. He left, drove to the liquor store with his last $30 in his pocket, then went straight home and drank until he passed out.

—-

Dean awoke with a start to the disturbing sight of _two_ very angry John Winchesters staring him down from the armchair next to the sofa.

“Hnnng da…wha...” Dean mumbled incoherently as he winced and shaded his eyes from the sunlight streaming into the living room.

“Hi, son. Boy, you’re in for a world of hurt if all those empty bottles are any indication.”

“Shhhhhh. Ow.”

“And once you’re sober, we’re going to have a serious come-to-Jesus that’s gonna make-”

“Dad, please! Stop,” moaned Dean miserably. He pried his eyes open and struggled to get them to merge his two blurry dads into one person again. “Water. Please.”

John handed him a bottle that was on the coffee table. “I’m having déja vu. Didn’t we just do this?”

“Mmmhmm,” Dean hummed as he drank. “Michael? Date?”

“Yes, he got your hearing moved by a few days.”

Dean winced again as he set the water bottle down. “Good.”

“Novak’s been texting you for hours. Not very impressed by your lack of response.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I told him,” said another voice from behind the couch. Dean’s head swam as he turned around to look. _Oh, fuck._

Novak was there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a deeply annoyed expression on his face.

“Hello, Dean.”


	25. Chapter 25

“I...I thought you were traveling,” Dean stuttered helplessly under that fierce blue-eyed glare; it might have been more desirable to just spontaneously combust rather than absorb one more second of the man’s crushing disappointment.

“I was,” Novak replied flatly.

Dean picked up his phone in confusion to check the clock; the brightness hurt his eyes horribly. Having seen Sam’s itinerary he knew for a fact it took 22 hours to fly between Johannesburg and Los Angeles. Was he still asleep and this was all a dream, maybe...? Hopefully..?

“Okay, wait...how long...wait...this can’t be right. Oh my god.”

“It’s correct,” said John in the same flat tone Novak had used. “I left your apartment over 24 hours ago.”

“Shit!” Dean muttered before remembering that Novak didn’t like swearing. “Sorry. Dad, why didn’t you come wake me? How’d you know I wasn’t dead? Were you gone the whole time?” he demanded.

“Don’t get hysterical. I was on a job. You were texting me and keeping up a fairly decent, coherent conversation. Had I known...” He looked pointedly at all the empty liquor bottles on the coffee table.

Dean remembered nothing at all, and his heart suddenly lurched about all his drunk texting. He flipped to the Messages app on his phone.

Holy shit. At least 30 messages to dad, several to Lisa (unacknowledged), and another text thread so odd he couldn’t figure it out at first. Turned out he’d been texting himself and answering himself on and off for 19 _hours_.

Sure enough, there were quite a few messages from Novak, Michael, and Sam, none of which Dean had answered. Thank goodness for small mercies, but... _oh my god, is that my vomit on the floor_...yes. He laid the phone down and pushed himself further into the couch cushions, pulling the blanket and a huge pillow firmly over his head and praying for a quick death.

 _Buckle up for another intervention,_ Dean’s brain mused idly as he drifted back to sleep. _Dad and Novak teaming up on me now. Fucking great. Gonna pep talk me to death…and...shit, I’m gonna let them. It’s time to grow a pair and grow the fuck up, Winchester. You’re signing that damned contract and don’t give a fuck what it says. Online classes. Easy. Wonder if dad will give me the Mac back?_

John sighed and looked straight at Novak after a few moments of Dean’s return to oblivion, then shrugged. “Believe me yet? Told you he’s worthless. Trust me, rip up that contract now and save yourself the trouble.”

——-

Dad was rummaging around noisily in the bathroom when Dean came to again an hour or so later. All of the liquor bottles were gone, the vomit cleaned up, and something simmering on the stove that smelled like chicken noodle soup.

Dean was sweaty and hot under the cushions and blankets, so he painfully peeled them off one by one and gently returned to a somewhat upright position. He stopped at about a 45 degree angle, because yep, there was the “world of hurt” his dad had referenced; a throbbing headache that took over his entire skull and a good portion of his spine to boot.

John came out to the living room carrying a bottle of Ibuprofen and a box of alka seltzer.

“You’re awake,” he observed needlessly as he uncapped the bottle and pulled out two bright orange pills. “You’ve got a meeting with your new lawyer in about six hours. Better pull it together. I’m making soup for you.”

“Does he know what happened?” Dean asked painfully. “I never texted him back, so…”

“I’m not talking about Michael. Sam found you a guy you can afford, and he takes installment payments. You’ll have to sell your car, but that’s probably for the best under the circumstances.”

Dean sat up a little higher, but not all the way yet, and swallowed down the pills with effort. Fuck Michael, anyway. “I knew he was gonna change his mind. Such a dick. But I need my car, dad. Have to figure something else out. Need to talk to Novak.”

John went to the stove and shut off the burner with a snap. “What you need is to figure out how you’re gonna pay your rent while you’re in jail, for starters. Or move everything to some cheap storage facility and find a new place when you get out.”

Dean froze, the glass of water he was holding still sloshing around in the stillness.

“Michael said I’ll only get thirty days, at the most,” he croaked.

“Your new lawyer totally disagrees. He thinks you’re in for about six months at least.”

Dean’s heart fell through his chest, the floor, and all seven stories of his apartment building. _The tour. Fuck._

“I need to call Novak,” he repeated, more urgently this time.

John snorted a little. “Good luck with that.  Shoulda seen the way he took off, couldn’t get out of here fast enough. You lost your chance, kiddo. Time to grow up and make a new plan.”

Dean gulped, and felt his entire body go numb. “Is...is that what he said? I lost my chance?”

“What do you think?”

“Well, I thought…” Dean felt sickly foolish all of a sudden, and disappointed and angry at Novak. “I thought you guys were gonna have another intervention on me or something. Gimme some pep talks. He just...he left?”

“Yep. Said he didn’t want to deal with it and took off,” John replied offhandedly. “Sorry. I tried to talk to him. I know you’re disappointed, but it wasn’t gonna work anyway.”

Dean wiped his now-streaming eyes with the back of his sleeve and glanced at his phone, which was lit up with a new notification. _Text from Castiel Novak._

He picked it up with trepidation.

_-Text me when you’re awake. DISCREETLY_

Dean blinked. _What_? Dad was busily spooning soup into two bowls.

_-I am awake_

_-Good. We need to talk ASAP. Alone._

  
  
  



	26. Chapter 26

“Dad?” asked Dean as he carefully slurped his soup.

“Yeah, Dean.”

“Soup’s really good, thanks.”

John raised an eyebrow. “Literally straight out of the can. What were you actually going to ask me?”

Dean flinched a little. “I just...I’m not gonna get much for my car.”

“I know. You might have to sell Charlie. She’ll probably fetch ten grand.”

“What? No! Absolutely not!” Dean protested so hard that a stab of pain to his temple nearly made him pass out.

“Not like you’re gonna-”

“Not happening. I’m going to ask Novak to pay. He said he would, regardless if I took the job or not. He’s not the kind to go back on his word.”

John huffed. “You don’t even _know_ him, Dean. And that’s pretty rich coming from you, the kid who always moans about not being a charity case.”

“I’m not a kid, either,” Dean snapped back harshly.

John set his bowl down hard. “Alright, that’s it. I’ve had enough of this new tone and attitude from you. If your ass wasn’t still throbbing I’d have another go at you in a heartbeat.”

Dean fell silent.

“I want you to stay away from Castiel Novak, and that’s final. His offering to pay thirty thousand bucks in legal fees for someone he’s met twice strikes me as extremely odd and highly predatory. How many times has he commented that your age is such a huge draw for him?”

Dean was calmer now, his tone respectful. “A few times. Sam is even younger, dad. But you don’t seem concerned about them working together?”

“I never got the feeling that Novak wanted to get into your brother’s pants, either. No adult male of his age is gonna throw around that much money so recklessly at a handsome, naive young man without having a nasty ulterior motive. Trust me, Dean, I’ve been around his type. I’ve seen it before. It was gonna end badly. You need to move on and worry about what you can control.”

Dean took another sip of his soup. “I guess you’re right,” he said faintly.

“I mean, if you were the greatest violinist in the world and he wanted to pay you a million bucks, different story. But you’re not, and you’re a hot mess to boot, so he has no other reason to pursue you that aggressively. We’re going to meet with your new lawyer in a few hours. In the meantime, you’re gonna relearn how to treat me with respect again. We clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean answered quickly. “Thanks for looking out for me, dad.”

“I’m your father. It’s my job. Eat your soup.”

“I’m gonna get some more.”

John took his bowl. “I’ll get it.”

While dad was in the kitchen, Dean furtively whipped out his phone under the table and opened Messages to shoot back a quick reply to Castiel:

_-Thanks, but no thanks. Please don’t ever contact me again._

Then he turned his phone completely off and didn’t touch it again for three days.

_\------------_

“Sam’s on his way here,” John said as he hung up his phone. It was Sunday afternoon and Dean was at his dining room table, busily reviewing all the documents and policies for his hearing on Monday afternoon. He was sober as a nun and feeling pretty good after having spent three days resting, eating healthy, and hydrating.

“Wow, finally? His flight must have been really delayed.”

“Nah, I’ve been tracking it. Landed four hours ago. No idea what he’s been doing since then and he’s not telling me.”

“Probably taking a shower and stuff. Oh, I just got an offer for my car.” He opened the email on his new Mac, which he loved, but as a PC person he found it difficult to get used to. “Shit. Nevermind. Lowballed again. I hate people.”

“How’s Charlie doing?”

“Just checked eBay. Bidding’s only up to three thousand but it’s early days. Dad, come take a look at this,” he said, disregarding his computer and pulling out a sheet of paper from a folder. “My lawyer said house arrest was possible. But this says I’d have to actually live in a house owned by myself or a family member at the time of the crime. Did he mention that? I don’t remember it.”

John shook his head. “Don’t remember that either. Call him.”

Dean hesitated. “Dad, I know I said it before, but...really don’t feel like this guy has all his ducks in a row. There’s a lot at stake here, and he’s missed a few things that I’ve discovered on my own. It’s freaking me out. A lot.”

“Let’s talk to Sam when he gets here.”

“He’s a contracts lawyer-”

“Just relax, he’ll be here in a minute. Probably knows someone we could call.”

Dean took a deep breath. “This _was_ the someone he knew we could call. The _only_ one. And he sucks.”

John looked at his son sharply. Dean quickly deflated and said nothing more as he went back to his computer. There was an article he’d emailed himself the previous day about house arrest. Maybe that said something he missed.

He went to his list of 47 unread emails (mostly spam) and his heart skipped a beat when he saw the three from Novak that he’d been ignoring. One per day since that last text.

He clicked on the article first and read it carefully. No, nothing about living in a house. Fuck. This was a nightmare. Then he accidentally clicked on the email below it, which popped up to fill his screen.

_Dean, the offer still stands. Lawyer and contract. Either or both. It’s extremely important that we talk. Call me ASAP._

_Fuck._ Dean rubbed his temples.

“Dad? I’m gonna go for a walk. Need air. Back in a few.”

John nodded. “Good idea. Just get back before Sam does.”

“I will.”

Dean headed towards the door and made sure his dad wasn’t looking when he slipped his phone into his pocket.


	27. Chapter 27

Dean had scarcely been outside for a minute when Sam’s black Charger suddenly rolled up next to him along the sidewalk.

“Get in,” Sam barked as he rolled down the window.

Dean dropped his phone back into his pocket, which still had Novak’s half-dialed number on the screen.

“What the hell, Sam? You rob a bank or something?”

“Get the fuck in.”

Dean did, looking around to make sure there were no police chasing his brother. Sam said nothing as he drove a block away and then parked the car, but left it running.

“Dude. What. the. actual. fuck. is wrong with you?” Sam asked piercingly.

“Excuse me?”

“You let dad beat your ass! No, you asked him to. _Begged_ him. Why?”

Dean’s heart stopped. “Oh my fucking god. He swore he wouldn’t tell you!”

“And you believed him? That’s hilarious. You haven’t learned a damned thing in 26 years, have you?”

“You’re not exactly a beacon of truth and light either, Sam,” Dean shot back hotly. “You’ve been making shit up for weeks about all kinds of things!”

Sam had no retort for that, so he just stared down his brother with a hard expression. “As I explained before, everything I did was with good intentions. I had your best interests in mind, unlike you, who seems content with sabotaging every fucking chance he has. Are you...are you _crying_?”

Dean sniffed and pulled the door handle, but nothing happened.

“Unlock it, please.”

“No. I have news.”

Dean held onto the handle. “What?”

“Your lawyer fucking sucks.”

“Thought you were going to tell me something I didn’t already know, Sam. You’re the one who recommended him, remember?”

“Yeah. I just left a meeting regarding the trio. I don’t know what the hell happened with Cas and dad while I was in South Africa, but dude, Cas is _pissed_ at him. Today he literally said he’s not hiring anyone else, period, and the brothers are all fighting about it. Like, almost physically brawling. They made me leave so they could work it out. I was ordered to get you into a meeting with them. Today.”

Dean’s breath hitched. “I can’t. No way. Dad said-”

“Knew you were gonna say that.” Sam threw the car back into gear and pulled away from the curb, heading the opposite direction of Dean’s apartment building.

“What are you doing?” Dean squealed.

“Kidnapping you. Hang on, I gotta call and make sure they’re still there.”

Dean closed his eyes and pressed back into the seat. “Dad is going to fucking kill me.”

“Don’t swear in the meeting. Cas doesn’t like it.” Sam put his phone up to his ear, but Dean heard nothing that was said. His heart was pounding too loudly, and he felt sick at the sensation of blood rushing in his ears.

All too soon they were at the front entrance of the Novak Arts Center. Sam put his hazard lights on and got out of the car.

“You’re not coming in?” Dean asked in a growing panic as they walked up the stairs.

“Nope. Just using my badge to let you in. You remember where his office is?”

“Can’t even remember my own damned name right now. I’m about to shit myself, Sam!”

“Down the hall on the left, last blue door on the end. They’re waiting for you.”

Dean stopped and faced his brother. He was green. “Dude...what the hell are you gonna tell dad? He’s waiting for both of us.”

“I don’t know. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Go.”

Dean went in.

Then he froze in front of the blue door. It was possible Sam hadn’t called Novak at all. That Dean would be barging into a meeting uninvited, unwanted, unexpected. In fact, in light of recent events, it was highly probable. Dean turned on his heel to leave after a minute of thinking about it and getting progressively more convinced he’d been tricked. Again.

He ran straight into Gabriel and nearly knocked the coffee cup out of his hand.

“S-sorry! I’m so sorry, are you alright?” Dean stuttered in embarrassment as the man backed up and quickly studied him from head to toe.

“That’s what I get for sneaking up on you. Are you joining us?”

“Um. Should I? Sam said...”

“Glad to see Sam finally doing what I ask him for a change.”

Dean held his ground. “What _you_ asked? He said Novak asked for me.”

Gabriel replied patiently, “Poor choice of words on my part. Yes, Castiel himself asked for you. I told Sam to make it happen. Gotta love hierarchy.”

He waited while Dean appeared to be considering his options.

“You’re not the trusting kind, are you? I learned that at our first meeting.”

Dean shook his head. “Sorry, it’s not personal. Kinda have PTSD from all the times my dad and Sam have manipulated me over the years.”

As soon as he said it, Dean gasped. _What the hell did I just say? Fuck._ “I’m so sorry. I have no idea why I just said that. I...I should just go.”

Gabriel walked past him and opened the door. “Come in, Dean. This won’t take long.”

Dean sucked in a deep breath, gathered up what little strands of courage he had left, and followed Gabriel into Castiel’s office.

Michael and Castiel were sitting together, studying a sheet of music.

“Gents,” said Gabriel in order to get their attention.

“Oh. Look what the cat dragged in,” said Michael dryly, and Dean instantly regretted his decision. That is, until he saw Castiel shoot a look at his brother that could have imploded the snarky lawyer on the spot. It was the same kind of look John Winchester threw to his sons when he was about to open up a can of whoopass on them. Strangely, it made Dean feel better. A lot better. He took another step in, and Castiel pulled out a chair.

“Glad you came, Dean. Have a seat.”


	28. Chapter 28

Dean sat at the 4-person table, with Castiel directly across from him. He was shaking...hands, knees, stomach, everything. Something in the man intimidated Dean to the core, even though he’d been the nicest to him out of the three. But the presence of his two asshole brothers on either side wasn’t helping matters any.

“How are you feeling?” asked Castiel, his tone indicating he felt obliged to ask rather than really wanting to know.

“I’m fine, sir. Thank you.”

Dean never called anyone “sir” so consistently, not even his own dad. He was irresistibly compelled to do so with Novak. Even “Mr. Novak” sounded too casual.

“I just learned from your brother that you’ve put your violin for sale on eBay.”

Dean took a deep breath and swallowed yet another gut punch.

“Sir, I...with the deepest respect, I would like to ask that you get information from me directly rather than Sam or my dad. I’m happy to tell you whatever I want you to know.”

“Fair enough,” Castiel agreed. “Although Sam told me that; I didn’t ask him. But let’s start over. I sent you a contract five days ago, which appears you have yet to access or review. Did you receive the email?”

“Sorry, can I ask a question first?” Dean asked, then he launched into the question without waiting for an answer. “I just...your brothers. How much do they know about what happened four days ago?”

“Everything I personally experienced from when your dad first called me back to when I left your apartment.”

“Oh.” Dean’s heart fell.

“I had to tell them. We’re all partners in this organization, with almost equal financial share. This tour is on all of our heads.”

“Okay. Now I get why you’re fighting with them about hiring me.”

There was a telling pause. “Dean, I would like to ask that you get your information from me directly, rather than from Sam or your dad.”

 _Wow._ Dean inwardly admired the smart callback on that one. Novak was sharp.

“Excellent point, sir. Sorry.”

Dean heard a stifled snigger from Michael, but didn’t dare look at him. He was gratified to see Castiel glare at him again, though.

“I’m going to give you a printed copy of the contract today.”

“There’s no point, sir. I can’t work for you.”

“Why?”

“For starters, my new lawyer says I’m looking at six months in jail.”

Another long pause while all three men stared at Dean.

Then Michael looked at Castiel. “Want to tell him now, or...?”

“Tell me what?” Dean prodded.

Castiel appeared to steel himself for delivering very unpleasant news, which stirred a swirl of dread in Dean’s stomach. He was almost afraid to know.

Castiel looked at his brothers. “I think you two should leave us alone for a few minutes. Wait in the hallway and I’ll come get you when we can continue.”

They got up to go, and Dean nearly wet himself waiting to hear yet another shoe drop.

“Sir? What’s…”

Castiel waited until the door closed.

“Dean, I have no desire to get involved in your family drama. I have seven siblings and an absent father myself and am exhausted from years of trying to keep us from tearing ourselves apart. So don’t take this as me wanting to start a fight with your father. That is literally the last thing I want. Do you understand?”

Dean nodded, and all the blood drained from his face.

Now it was Castiel’s turn to take a deep breath. “A few days ago I called John to inquire about your well-being. I was concerned you had taken an even worse turn. We spoke about you for a while, and I asked him to work with me to help you.”

Dean nodded. “I figured that’s how you ended up at my apartment.”

“My intentions were good, and I’d hoped for a peaceful intervention...but then we found you..as you were, you know. I don’t think we need to rehash that. I was really angry at you and decided on the spot that our negotiations were over. Before you even woke up I was drafting a contract in my head for my alternate violinist to take over the principal duties. Never been so disappointed in my life. Not even sure why I stuck around. Wait. You’re...you’re getting upset.”

“Yeah.” Dean wiped his eyes before they could spill over. “That day isn’t exactly gonna make my highlight reel. My dad told me how you stormed out and everything. It’s okay, you don’t have to explain. I would have done the same thing.”

Castiel’s brows furrowed. “Thought we agreed to only get our information from each other?”

“Sorry.”

“So let’s back up. You woke up as I was about to go. I really thought your dad was going to pep talk you. Encourage you to get help. Maybe even beg me to let you work with me still. I was hopeful, even though I was taking myself out of the equation, that you would find yourself in a better situation with his guidance.”

Dean looked at the floor.

“Look at me. Then you drifted off to sleep again and he looked at me and said, _See? Told you he was worthless. Best to rip the contract up and save yourself the trouble_.”

“Yeah...” Dean suddenly found his nails very interesting. “The Cliff Notes of our relationship, right there. Nothing else you need to know.”

Castiel braced himself. “But there’s something else _you_ need to know. Michael didn’t change his mind about representing you. John did. Your dad is literally arranging for you to spend more time in jail, because he thinks that’s how you’ll be fixed.”

Dean looked up, his heart thudding painfully. “Hell no! There’s no way. You’re lying.”

“I’m not. Sam is the one who figured it all out. He came to us this morning and demanded our help. Michael has offered to represent you for free. I suggest you accept.”


	29. Chapter 29

“Mr. Novak, I’m sorry. I have to get home. My dad’s waiting for me and Sam.”

“I expected that, since you have a tendency to run away whenever things get tough.”

Dean glared at him. “Oh, really? Did Sam tell you that, too?”

“No. You’ve shown it to me time and again yourself. I don’t need it to be translated through a third party. Your hearing is tomorrow?”

“Yes, sir. 11am.”

“Michael needs an answer now. He says he can get you 30 days.”

Dean stood up. He noticed Gabriel and Michael coming back to the room but didn’t acknowledge them and calmly kept talking. “You know what? Maybe dad’s right. I deserve to go to jail for that long. Shit, I...I can’t stay sober for a week at a time these days. Hell, more than 4 days at a time. At least when I’m locked up, I won’t be able to hurt anyone. Or myself. I hope they give me the whole year, come to think of it. That will leave me enough time to figure out what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.”

“ _Dean_.”

“No, I’m gonna…” he spun around to see who said his name, and found Sam standing in the doorway, looking like he’d just run over his own dog.

Dean raised his voice. “Oh hey, Sammy. Just in time, as always. Can’t believe you manipulated me yet again into this bullshit. Oh wait, yes I can.”

“What do you mean, Dean?”

“When you picked me up, you said you didn’t know why Cas was mad at dad. You knew all along. That whole conversation in the car was a lie. Would it kill you to just once in your life tell me the fucking truth and stop pulling this shit on me?”

Dean was so out of sorts that he didn’t even noticed he’d referred to Novak as Cas.

“You would’ve never come in here if I told you what dad’s up to. You wouldn’t have believed me! I _have_ to manipulate you, Dean, because you do the exact opposite of what everyone tells you to do!”

“Well you know what? I’m officially sick of anyone telling me what to do. I’m done.”

“Good! Maybe now you’ll stop hanging on dad’s every last command and start thinking for yourself for a change. _Fuck_ , you’re too vain to notice I’ve been on your side this past month. Dad didn’t even tell you that a few days ago I agreed to pay your $30,000 legal bill, did he?”

Dean froze.

“I thought so,” Sam huffed. “Look at your texts. I offered but you never read it. Guess what I found out yesterday? Dad called up that shit-for-brains lawyer and offered him a thousand bucks extra on the side to get you the sentence _he_ wants for you. And yes, I know I recommended him. It was a friend of a friend thing, and I’m sorry. That’s on me, I’m stupid. You gotta dump him, Dean. Before it’s too late, which it’s gonna be in about 18 hours.”

“I can’t.” Dean stalked to the door, not noticing the trio of brothers who were watching them. “Take us home, Sam, before dad murders both of us for keeping him waiting. Don’t play the innocent with me. You lie to me all the time. Outright. I don’t trust you, and I don’t trust dad. This is bullshit.”

Castiel stepped in between them. “Then trust me, Dean.”

“Yeah, right. _You_ just want to get in my pants. Back off, pervert. Fuck you all. I’m taking a cab home.”

Dean stormed out the door and went outside, taking in painfully deep gulps of breath to help steady himself. His phone was ringing but he didn’t even notice.

He heard Sam come out of the door behind him and walk up to his side.

“I’ll take you home, Dean,” Sam said quietly. “You’re in no condition to be-”

He broke off as Dean collapsed downward on the stairs and broke down into an inconsolable, sobbing mess of a broken man.

“Get in the car. Don’t do this in public. Come on.” Sam reached down and pulled Dean up by his arm, then half-dragged him into the back seat. When he drove away, he noticed Gabriel and Castiel watching them from a side door.

Castiel looked a little broken, too.

\-----

Sam drove Dean to the parking lot of a nearby park and let him cry his heart out. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. Didn’t offer comfort that he knew would be rejected outright. But his heart was shattered into a million pieces. He had done his brother so wrong, and there would never be a way to make up for it. Ever. He couldn’t bear to look at himself in the rearview mirror.

Dean fell silent an hour later, and Sam held his breath as he slowly turned and looked into the backseat. Dean was staring up at the ceiling, breathing shallow, and looking a little too pale.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Dean?” he asked softly, his eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hair in his concern. He didn’t expect an answer from his brother, and was pleasantly surprised when he turned to look at him and didn’t explode.

“Yeah, Sammy. Tell me it’s all a bad dream.”

“Can’t. Wish I could.”

“Fuck. Did I seriously just call Novak a pervert?”

“Yep.”

“Is he?”

“Nope. Had a wife and kid. Both died in a car wreck last year.”

The pretty blonde girl in the frame on Novak’s desk. Dean groaned. “What am I gonna do, Sammy? Tell me.”

“You said you were done with people telling you what to do.“

“What _should_ I do, then?”

“What do you _want_ to do, Dean? That’s the only thing that matters.”

“I want to work for Cas. Always have.”

“Wanna go back and see if he’ll accept an apology?”

Dean felt sick suddenly. “Shit. Yeah. Let’s go."


	30. Chapter 30

Dean sunk down as low as possible in the back seat when Sam pulled up to the parking meters at Novak Arts Center and turned off the car. “Sam, what are we going to tell dad? We’ve been gone for a while.”

“I know. He just texted me. What would you like me to say?”

Dean felt a glow of warmth in his chest; Sam asking what he wanted was a new thing and he didn’t know if he could ever get used to it. But it would be nice while it lasted.

“Shit, I don’t know. ‘Please don’t kill us?’ What do you suggest? I don’t want to add lying on top of going missing.”

“Me either. Okay. Tell me what to say.”

“ _Sam!_ Look,” Dean urged. Novak was exiting building with his briefcase.

“Crap. He’s leaving. That’s not good.”

“Should we try to catch-”

Too late; Castiel’s towncar arrived and he got in before Sam could finish his suggestion. Dean felt like crying.

“Great. Just as I was finally getting up the fucking courage. Go figure.”

“Michael’s car is still in the parking lot. Go in and talk to him. Wait, I mean...if you’d _like_ to go in and talk to him, now might be a good time.”

Dean hesitated. “He hates me, Sam.”

“No, he doesn’t. He hates that you can’t pay him the big bucks. That’s a totally different thing and I think it’s shitty how he...what are you doing?” he asked as the back seat lit up.

“I’m texting him.”

_-Michael, it’s Dean. I’m outside the center and wondering if I can come in and talk to you? If you have the time, I mean_

Dean braced himself for the possibility of receiving either an obnoxiously snotty comeback or no answer at all. He wasn’t sure which one he preferred.

_-I’m not there. Turn around_

Dean did. Michael and Gabriel were dining on the patio of the restaurant Sam had parked in front of, no more than fifteen feet away. He looked back down at his phone and fought the urge to immediately flee the scene.

“What are you looking at?” Sam asked curiously. “Oh. Shit.”

- _Well this is incredibly awkward_

- _Awkward seems to be the theme today. We just ordered our appetizers. Join us, both of you_

“Fuck, Sam. He wants us to join them!” Dean was in agony.

“ _Michael_ does? Are you serious?”

“I’m gonna have a heart attack.”

Sam started to get out of the car, then stopped himself as he remembered not to boss Dean around. “What do you want to do?”

_-We’re moving inside to a private booth_

Dean read the text to Sam, who took a deep breath and shrugged. “Private booth. Damn. If I were you, I’d go.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if they poisoned my food, though.”

“You don’t have to eat,” Sam remarked. He still hadn’t moved an inch, and Dean took a moment to appreciate it without remarking on the fact that in the past, they would have already been inside with Dean loudly protesting every inch of the way.

Still…

“Sam, I’m not going to lie, I’m scared shitless right now.” He was, too, Sam noted; it wasn’t often Dean looked like he was about to throw up and pass out all at once.

“Because of Michael, or because of dad?”

They both knew who it was that Dean was scared of the most. Dean didn’t answer and texted to Michael that they were coming in a minute.

“Okay. It’s done, we’re going in. You’ve got to text dad back, Sam. He’s going to report us missing if-”

Dean’s phone rang, and he jumped a little.

_Incoming call from John Winchester_

“Oh, fuck. Sam!”

“Oh shit,” Sam replied, turning a little sickly-looking himself. “What are you gonna-”

“Hi dad,” Dean answered before he could lose his courage.

“Where are you? Your brother hasn’t shown up and I’m about to have a stroke from all the worrying.”

Dean glanced at Sam. “Yeah, uh, it’s kinda funny. We’re actually just about to have dinner with Michael and Gabriel. We ran into them. Small world.”

“You... _ran into them_.”

“Yep. Sorry for not calling you sooner. Sam saw me walking and we started talking about stuff. It’s good stuff, we’re good. We went for a drive and whaddya know? Michael and Gabriel asked us to eat with them. I’ll call you when we’re on the way back to my apartment okay? And I’ll bring you some dinner. Thanks, dad.”

Dean hung up and before he could silence the phone, John called back. Dean declined it and turned it off. Then he pulled open the car door.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

\---

It wasn’t nearly as humiliating sitting down with Novak’s brothers as Dean had feared. Not at first, anyway. Once the door to their private booth was closed, however, he began to shake like a dog at a fireworks show.

Michael set down his wine glass. “I gather you came over to ask me to represent you again. Before you start launching into another round of self-loathing and sorry excuses, the answer is yes.”

Dean nodded sagely. “That’s okay, I understand...wait, what? Did you...you’re saying _yes_?”

“Correct.”

“But why? After what I said to your brother..?”

Gabriel answered that. “We’re not here to talk about Castiel. Or the tour. Let’s focus on one thing at a time.”

“Don’t dismiss my question, please,” Dean replied firmly. “Tell me _exactly_ why you want to help me for free. Otherwise I’m not comfortable proceeding.”

Michael glanced at Gabriel before responding. “Because Castiel is making me. If you don’t like it, go ahead and spend six months in jail for no reason. Otherwise, I suggest you sieze the opportunity.”

Dean swallowed down his resentment. _Suspicion confirmed,_ but what did he have to gain by running away now?

“Okay. Not ideal, but...at least it’s the first honest thing I’ve heard in weeks. So, what do I need to do tomorrow?”

  
  



	31. Chapter 31

Dean’s hands were trembling so badly he could hardly pick up his water glass without it clinking against everything else nearby. Sam shot him a look, so he set it back down and put his hands in his lap, hidden away under the tablecloth.

“Did you want to order any food, gentlemen?” asked Gabriel politely after yet another awkward pause.

“I don’t think I could keep it down,” Dean blurted, which earned him another side-eye from his brother.

“No, thank you,” Sam replied calmly. “We won’t be staying long. I think Dean just wanted to apologize, and-’

“ _Sam_ ,” Dean muttered warningly, returning his brother’s earlier glare with interest.

Michael cleared his throat. “Sam, I want to propose the idea of letting your brother have this conversation with us alone. Would you be open to that?”

Before he could respond, Gabriel jumped right in. “I should go, too. Sam, let’s go reclaim that table outside. It’s a beautiful night for it.”

“Um. Sure. You okay with that, Dean?”

Dean nodded and reached for his water again. The two men left and Dean felt his heart seize up a little at the thought of not having Sam to advocate for him now, because god knows he couldn’t manage to defend himself most of the time.

Before he could say anything the first of the appetizers arrived and Dean got a little kick out of the waitress doing a double take at the new face at the table.

“That age elixir cocktail worked wonders,” Dean joked, adding a little wink at the end for good measure. _Probably doesn’t know what elixir means cuz she’s like twelve. Now she thinks you’re hitting on her. Good job, idiot._

“Please feel free to eat, Dean. I’m vegetarian, but Gabriel ordered a bunch of meat stuff.” He shoved one of the plates over.

“Thank you. Look, um...I just want to ask one more question about Castiel before we get started. Please just answer it, or my brain is going to be obsessing about it for like five years at least. Are you just _telling_ me you’re doing this for free and he’s paying you on the side, or is he really _not_ paying you? I can’t stomach being manipulated any longer. I hope you understand why I’m asking.”

“I do understand. He’s really not paying me, Dean. Not a cent. He knows you wouldn’t accept my services otherwise.”

“Why did he force you into it?”

“Because I owe him favors left and right.”

“But thirty thousand dollars’ worth?”

Michael shrugged. “Small price to pay to keep him off my back. Castiel never gives up when he wants something, as I’m sure you’ve already learned.”

The truth again. It made Dean feel much better...almost downright comfortable. “I see. I’ll happily give you the thirty grand from my brother and be in debt to him if that helps. I don’t want you to hate me. I’m already on the shit list of pretty much everyone else in the world. My kingdom for just _one_ ally tomorrow. If that’s going to be anyone, I want it to be you.”

Michael was thrown off by that entirely, and Dean was gratified to see that his words had definitely made an impact. His entire countenance changed in an instant.

“How much money do you have on you right now?”

“I just took my last $400 out of the bank. It’s in my wallet.”

“Alright. I’ll make you a deal. Give me entire $400. If we can get through this dinner without you running off, or insulting me, or refusing to do as I’ll tell you, I’ll give it back to you. Otherwise I’m keeping it as an ‘incivility fee.’ Do you agree?”

Dean reached into his back pocket. “Okay...um, I never knew there was such a thing?”

“There isn’t. I just made it up.”

Dean opened his wallet, then hesitated before handing over the cash. Then he caught the slight sparkle of mischief in the man’s eye. And thank god for that, because he was able to breathe again.

Michael pocketed the cash and picked up his wine glass. “Alright, so now I have your deposit for my services. I feel better. Do you?”

“Yeah, actually. Thanks.” Dean managed to smile a little. Barely. But it was there.

Michael reached across the table for the bottle of wine.

“Would it be even easier with a little bit of wine, perhaps?”

Dean looked at him sideways. “Um. You’re asking an alcoholic if he can cope easier with wine.”

Michael set the bottle down sheepishly. “Sorry. Wasn’t thinking.”

“That’s alright.”

“You just admitted you’re an alcoholic, though. That’s huge. Is this a new thing?”

“Second time. I was sober two and a half years, until...well. Recently.”

“Girl trouble?”

“Yeah.”

Gabriel reached down and pulled his briefcase onto the booth. “I know the judge who’s going to sentence you. He’s a hardass, doesn’t take crap from anyone. I see a panicked look on your face already, but hear me out. He goes hardest on defendants who are smart mouthing or showing no signs of being redeemable. Based on today, you’re exactly the kind of colorful personality he would give the maximum to just to make a point.”

Dean felt prickles of alarm pop up along his arm hairs, and had to almost physically restrain himself from asking if he thought Castiel would ever forgive him. His gaze drifted to the bottle of wine for a moment, but he forced his attention back to the papers that were now on the table. Then Gabriel’s phone lit up with a call. It was Castiel, of course.

“You should get that,” Dean croaked as stood up.

“No it’s alright. Sit. Hang on. Hey, Cas...which contract, Dean’s?...Yes, I have Benny’s, too...send it when? Are you sure? What about Dean?...Oh. I’m sorry, Cas.”

Michael caught Dean’s inquisitive look and shook his head sadly.

Dean blanched, then reached for the bottle of wine.


	32. Chapter 32

While still talking to Castiel, Michael reached over and slapped Dean’s hand away from the bottle, then pulled it out of his reach. This earned a quick glare from the younger man, but also quiet, sheepish acceptance.

Michael ended the call, and Dean stood back up abruptly.

“I’m not running away. Going to the bathroom. Be back in a few.”

“That’s exactly what you’re doing. _Sit_. Or you lose the $400. Your choice.”

Dean sat reluctantly. _Fuck...crying again, Winchester? You pussy._

“Collect yourself,” Michael said calmly. “We need to focus on your hearing.”

“I can’t now. Who’s Benny?”

“Benny is about to have your job. But I’m not sending him a contract until I talk to Castiel again. Whether I say he’s right or he’s wrong depends entirely on how you conduct yourself tonight and tomorrow. So keep that in mind. Go to the restroom now if you need to. I expect you back in no more than five minutes.”

\-----------

Dean woke up abruptly early Monday morning with a mixed sense of dread and anticipation. The waiting would be over in four hours, he’d know his fate, and he could move on with his life.

Also...he could breathe a little more freely ever since returning home late last night in a cab and finding his apartment empty and clean again. Dad had left nothing behind. No calls or texts. He was either too angry to face his son, or had to bolt out of town for a job and had no time to explain. Dean had been surprised to realize he didn’t care either way.

He saw Sam’s missed calls and thought about ignoring them, but the truth was, he was bound for jail later today whether he liked it or not and it would be totally unfair to his brother to cut him off just like that. So he held his breath and dialed.

“Hey Sam.”

“Hey. Big day today. Last night go okay?”

“Yeah. You know, in another life I think I could easily be best friends with Michael.”

Sam chuckled a little. “That’s what I said about Gabriel. Those two are quite the pair. So...what’s the lowdown?”

“I’m looking at 30 to 120 days in the pokey. He swears it will be only thirty, but I don’t wanna get my hopes up. I’ve got to memorize my statement to the judge this morning and everything to beg for mercy.”

“Don’t beg. Just read the statement and keep calm and positive.”

“Hard to stay positive. Novak canceled my offer.”

There was a long pause on the other line.

“But I’m guessing you already knew that,” Dean added eventually.

“No, actually. I didn’t. I’m so sorry. I really thought...shit.”

“Me, too. Hang on, I’m getting a text.” Dean looked at his phone; it was Michael.

- _Dean, have your brother call me ASAP. It’s critical. Go over to his house and I mean literally break down the door if necessary. I need to talk to him NOW and preferably an hour ago!_

“What the hell? Michael wants you to call him. Sounds like he’s panicking.”

Sam didn’t sound concerned all as he yawned and stretched before answering. “He is? Why didn’t he...oh, my phone’s been on DND. Was planning on going into the office late today. Cas must be getting on his case about the logistics for this weekend. The venue is a hot mess.”

Dean grunted. “Better call him before he has a stroke.”

“Okay. I’ll call you back.”

\----

It was Dean who almost had the stroke in the meantime. He was supposed to meet with Michael at the courthouse one hour before his hearing, but the man was nowhere to be found fifteen minutes after the hour. Then thirty minutes after. He couldn’t get a hold of Sam, either. The two of them were last in contact with each other, and all kinds of terrible thoughts filled Dean’s mind as he waited outside his assigned room, sweating bullets and fearing the worst. That they’d abandoned him. That they’d been in cahoots with dad the entire time to lock him up as long as possible. That they’d died in a car crash on the way to the courthouse.

When his hearing was 15 minutes away, he couldn’t stand it anymore. The battery on his phone was dead from his frantic attempts to contact the two men. He went into the bathroom and threw up three times.

When he emerged with five minutes left, Sam and Michael were standing at the end of the very long hallway, obviously looking for him. He ran up to them.

“What the f…where have you been?”

Michael took his arm and pulled him aside. “We’ve been in conference with the prosecutor regarding your case. Don't have time to explain now, but you have to do exactly what I told you last night. Did you memorize the statement?”

“We? You _and_ Sam? Why?”

“Did you memorize the statement? Yes, or no?”

“Yes, but-”

The doors opened to the courtroom and Dean felt his knees buckle a little. Michael took a harder grip on him and held him steady.

“It’s going to be over fast. Read your statement when asked. _Calmly._ Sincerely. Then thank the judge for her time and consideration. Say nothing else. You’ll be taken into handcuffs after the sentencing and moved into a side room to wait for transport to jail. Do not panic. Do _not_ say or do anything, don’t even look at anyone. I’ll come as soon as they allow and explained what happened. Everything’s going to be okay, Dean.”

Dean couldn’t speak. Sam looked scared, and Michael wasn’t much better.

Then Sam nodded and tried to smile. “It’s going to be okay,” he repeated. “Just stay calm and for god’s sake keep your mouth shut except for the statement.”

“ _Calm?_ You guys look like you’re expecting me to get life with no parole!”

“No-”

“Dean Winchester,” the bailiff called out in a booming shout.


	33. Chapter 33

Dean closed his eyes and counted to ten before he could make his legs move forward to the bench. He was in such a daze that he didn’t hear the back and forth between all the various parties. His head vibrated. He could only stare at the ground, his eyes dripping tears at his feet onto the ugly grey tile while back-and-forth chatter passed over his head like airplanes in the sky.

Them Michael poked him hard in the side, and he straightened up to give his statement.

_I accept full responsibility for my actions. I’m an alcoholic for the second time in life. There will not be a third. I respectfully request a reduced sentence in order to allow me to enter treatment and start putting my life back together as soon as possible. Thank you for your time and compassion._

The last word was supposed to be ‘consideration,’ but Dean flubbed it by mistake. There was some more back and forth, and for this Dean held his head high. Sam was crying beside him.

 _Words, words, words._ Then the bombshell.

_...hereby sentenced to 365 days in Los Angeles County jail…_

...and then something about probation…. _words, words, words_

“Do you understand this sentence?” the judge asked after waiting a few moments.

“Yes, ma’am,” he croaked, even though he didn’t.

Then more indistinguishable words, and finally silence. His hands were pulled behind him into handcuffs. He didn’t look at Sam or Michael as he was led away.

\-----

Dean expected to be waiting for an eternity for Michael’s explanation for this disaster, and he did. It felt like another lifetime as he sat in the antechamber and waited quietly while other sniffling men were brought out and seated around him, waiting for the grim bus ride to their unhappy new life.

In truth, while he’d panicked at first for a few minutes after the verdict, now he just felt oddly relieved. A whole year of having to make no decisions. Pay no rent. Not see Sam, dad, Novak...time to find himself, maybe, despite the harshness of the environment. _Finally,_ he thought, _I’ll have time to grow a thick skin and grow the fuck up without Sam and dad controlling my life. Thank god._

\-----

He lifted his head as Michael came into the room and suddenly crouched in front of him, almost too close for comfort.

“I’m sorry, Dean, for all the-” he whispered.

“It’s alright,” Dean interrupted, and he meant it.

“Wait. I meant for keeping you waiting so long. I tried to get the two hearings back to back, but there were no conference rooms open. We’re going to-”

“What do you mean _two_ hearings?”

“Stand up and follow the bailiff. I’ll be right behind you.”

Dean did, feeling dazed and somewhat dismayed. He had just come to terms with what he deserved, and now…it was all being taken away again? They proceed into the hallway and walked down some stairs into a conference room. Sam was there, and seven court officials.

Michael swept in and addressed the man sitting at the head of the table before sitting. “Mr. Winchester is completely unaware of what’s about to take place, so I would like to ask for your patience with him. Thank you in advance.”

Dean looked around, bewildered. There were huge letters on the wall that read DEPT OF FAMILY SERVICES

“Mr. Winchester,” said the man, who Dean now realized was another judge. “While you were awaiting transport, an appeal was lodged on your behalf and a statement taken from your brother for consideration of a reduced sentence due to several mitigating circumstances. Chiefly, that an attorney hired for you was coerced by your father into ensuring you would have a longer sentence than would be otherwise found appropriate.”

Dean looked around wildly; dad was not here. _Holy shit. Sam._

“The next step is for you to accept or decline an alternative sentence that has been proposed by the members of this hearing in consideration of that event. Although the allegations against your father cannot be proven, the court also must consider the incompetence of the first attorney you were assigned to after your arrest, who did not properly advise you and caused you to end up pleading guilty without knowing all of your rights. Do you understand?”

Dean couldn’t speak at first. “Y...yes, s-sir? I think...I think you’re saying my...” He couldn’t finish, and in fact didn’t even know what he was trying to say at all.

The man waited patiently, then continued speaking when Dean closed his mouth tightly shut again.

“The alternative sentence is 120 days’ house arrest in the home of your brother Samuel Winchester, a court-ordered alcohol rehab program, and three years of probation. Do you accept?”

Dean could hardly believe what he was hearing, and in his bewildered stupor he turned to his brother first. “You gonna be ok with that, Sammy?” he asked numbly.

“Yes!” Sam hissed, his eyes popping.

The man in charge continued, “I want you to know that this situation is highly unusual, and such a change to a sentence almost unprecedented. You will not get another chance to appeal if you decline. Do you accept? Say only yes or no.”

Dean’s pulse was rushing in his ears again. He wanted to say no. The Dean Winchester of even one week ago would have said no. But then dad took the belt to him and made him realize he didn’t need to hold in so much guilt for himself. A lot of it, yes. But not all of it. And certainly not a year’s worth in jail of it.

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“It is so ordered. Remove the handcuffs, corporal. Mr. Winchester, you'd better thank your lawyer profusely after this. What he pulled off would have been all but impossible for anyone else.”

Dean turned to look at Michael to thank him. But he fainted instead. Sam saw it coming and deftly caught him.


	34. Chapter 34

Outside the courthouse, the three men waited for a car hired by Michael to pick them up. None of them said anything; it was too soon. Emotions too raw. Nothing quite real yet. An enormous Yukon SUV pulled up, and the brothers got in the front row while Michael climbed into the third row and stretched out, exhausted.

As they pulled away Dean said quietly to Sam, “There is SO much you guys need to explain. I have no idea what just happened. But first...how did dad take the news that I was working with Michael?”

“Um. He doesn’t know.”

“He... _what_? How?"

 _Pause_. “Let’s just say you’re not the only one I’ve been lying to lately, Dean. Sunday night dad had to leave for Arizona while we were at dinner. So I called up your shitty lawyer and fired him. Then I threatened to expose him if he didn’t call dad the next morning and tell him he was at the courthouse with you and everything was going as planned. Which I assume he did, but can’t confirm.”

“Oh my god,” Dean breathed in shocked dismay. “Shit, Sam!”

Sam looked over his shoulder to make sure Michael wasn’t paying attention. Then he said quietly, “Yeah. Not my proudest moment. It gets worse.”

Sam sighed, then handed his brother his cell phone. Dean looked at the text messages and scrolled all the way down to the last exchange between Sam and dad. There was a photo from Sam of the court document that listed the initial one-year jail sentence, and Sam’s message: _It’s over with already. One year and a shitload of probation._

Then the reply from dad afterwards:

- _Good_

That was it. Dean handed the phone back and swallowed down the bile that had risen to his mouth.

“He doesn’t know. Guess I’ll have some explaining to do when he gets back and I’m traipsing around your house in my boxers, huh?”

Sam shrugged. “We’ll tell him tonight that your sentence was reduced. That’ll be the end of it. He never needs to know I threw his ass under the bus.”

Michael had been sitting through this conversation silently from the back seat, having tuned them completely out while texting Castiel back and forth.

_-Just left the courthouse with Dean_

_-Good. Call me about this weekend’s venue staff when you get home. I don’t know what “hot mess” means but Gabriel insists that’s what they are_

_-Will do, but first...I really appreciate that you took my advice and reconsidered Dean. I’ve spent the last two days with him. Cas, this kid has been given every last bad break in the universe and it’s a miracle he still has enough spirit to keep going day to day. He deserves the second chance and all the support we can give_

_-You mean a fifth chance. It’s irrelevant now, anyway. I sent the contract to Benny a little while ago when I learned about Dean’s sentence. No idea what I’ll be doing a year from now. We’ll talk to him then if he still wants to play_

_-What? Not sure what you are getting at_

Michael was astonished when Castiel’s reply was simply a photo of a court document showing Dean’s initial sentence of one year in jail. A big, familiar thumb covered up Michael’s own name. He took a deep breath and instantly succumbed to his rapid fury.

“Sam?” he barked, breaking into the brother’s conversation. “Did you text your dad a photo of the court document with Dean’s initial sentence?”

“Um,” Sam replied after a pause as he looked back over his shoulder. “I. Yeah. How did you know-”

“Care to tell me why, when you knew all along that one year was only temporary?”

Dean looked at Sam with a partially amused ‘oh shit, you’re for in for it now! _’_ expression.

“Do I have to tell you?” Sam answered sheepishly. “I’d really rather not.”

Michael was irate now, and the brothers quickly lost their amusement. “ _Yes._ You absolutely do. Because John forwarded it to Castiel just as I was starting to renegotiate a contract for Dean. When Cas saw Dean was going to be gone for a year, he sent the contract to Benny instead!”

Sam leaned back against the headrest. “Fuck.”

Dean’s eyes were wide. “I don’t understand. Castiel canceled my offer.”

“I got him to change his mind. We had another contract ready to send you, but he said to wait until after the hearing because we didn’t know how much time you’d be serving.”

“Oh my god. What do we do?”

Michael shook his head and muttered angrily to himself. “You’re not doing anything. You get to stay quiet for a change. This is Sam’s problem to fix.”

Michael returned to his phone.

_-Dean got no jail time. You can thank his idiot brother for this mess. Stand by._

_-What??? Call me_

They arrived at Sam’s house a moment later. Michael was ready to explode.

“Okay, Sam, you fucked up big time. You’re coming with me to explain it to Castiel. Dean, go inside and study those documents about what house arrest entails. I’ll be back later to go over them with you.”

“Wait. Michael-” Dean pleaded as Sam climbed out first so his brother could exit.

“Go inside!”

“Wait!” Dean insisted. “Aren’t you even going to ask me if I still want to play in the trio first?”

That calmed Michael down for a moment; he was able to gather his temper into a more manageable conflagration in the ensuing moments.

“I’m sorry, Dean. My apologies. Of course your wishes are more important than me tearing your brother a new one. Would you like to play in the trio if Castiel makes you an offer?”

Dean nodded. “Yes. I’m sure you knew that, but I just wanted to be asked.”

“Understandable. Sam, get back in the car and pray that Benny hasn’t already signed that contract. Driver, take us to Novak Arts Center.”

 


	35. Chapter 35

Dean fretted at his brother’s immaculate and well-stocked house for almost six hours until Sam returned home in a taxi. Up to that point he had been sending Dean periodic texts to let him know he was okay, that they were working everything out, and not to worry. Not that it said much, but it was something to help ease his nerves. He jumped up to open the front door when he heard footsteps on the walkway.

“Dude! What happened? I’m dying here.”

Sam somberly handed him a sealed manila envelope and a heavy duffel. “Here’s your contract. And I stopped off at your place to get your computer and some of your clothes. Michael said you’ll be allowed to return there soon to pack everything up and move out, but I can get what you need in the meantime.”

Dean went into the guest bedroom and tore open the envelope, his heart soaring and all but bursting into song like a Disney movie cliche.

Sam limped into the bedroom and leaned against the doorframe. “Read that thing carefully. Let me know if you have any questions.”

“Why are you limping? Did you get your ass beat or something?” Dean joked as he spread all the papers out on the bed and turned on the lamp.

“Uh. Yeah, actually.”

Dean froze and stared at him. “So dad is back from Arizona already?”

Sam took a deep breath and did his little annoyed face quirk that he always did. “Not exactly. Michael ratted me out to Cas. He had to. Turns out that one little photo is going to cost the organization a $20,000 contract termination fee, because Benny had already signed it.”

“Fuck. Sam...please tell me you weren’t fired."

“No, and I don’t think that ever entered their minds. I have to pay for it, though. In more ways than one.” He rubbed his ass again and winced.

Sam’s puppy dog eyes mixed with his deep annoyance was too much for Dean, and he burst into laughter. “Dude.”

“Shut up.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dean giggled. “Elaborate on the part where you got your ass beat. But don’t go too fast. I gotta savor this. Poetic justice is a beautiful thing.”

“Well, that’s why I’m telling you to read your contract carefully. There’s a little clause in there under _discipline_ that you might not want to opt into so fast.”

Dean nodded. “The caning thing. Are you telling me you didn’t read your own contract carefully, Mr. Stanford Contracts Lawyer?”

“Yes I did, thank you very much.”

“So you agreed to it. Holy shit, Sam. Had no idea you're so kinky.”

“I’m not!” Sam protested. “I really wanted the job but he was concerned about me being so young and...stop laughing, Dean. It fucking _hurts_.”

“Was that the first time?”

“Yes, and never again. Shit. Dad’s belt was nothing compared to that,” Sam complained. “Feels like I have a hot stove strapped to my ass.”

The mention of dad made Dean sober up against instantly. “They’re not going to tell dad about all this subterfuge, are they? And you aren’t either, right?”

“No. As far as we’re all concerned, it’s over.”

“Good. I’m sorry for laughing, Sam. I really am. I don’t want you to be in pain.”

Sam smirked a little. “It’s alright. Kinda worth it just to hear you laugh again. Been a while.”

“Yeah.”

They looked at each other fondly for a few awkward seconds, then Sam perked up.

“Well, contract time. I’ll leave you to it. When that’s all done and you’re feeling up for a chat, come out to the living room. I’ll tell you everything that went down at the courthouse. Everything I can remember, anyway. It’s been a hell of a day, huh?”

Dean smiled without humor. “You know what got me the most? There was a weird relief that I had about my first sentence. I can’t really explain it. I was almost disappointed _not_ to go to jail. That’s weird, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. You know what’s just as weird, though? Don’t laugh. I’m kinda glad that I got caned. I feel like I can move on now and put this all behind us. Otherwise I would have been moping about it forever. It was...like, purifying, I guess?”

“I know the feeling. Forgiven and forgotten by me too, okay? I still wanna hear all about today though.”

“Set aside a couple hours. Want something to drink?”

Dean’s happy mood was instantly dampened at that question. “No. I drank one of your beers. Sorry.”

Sam looked perturbed for a fraction of a second, but then he cheered up again. “It’s alright, Dean. Not against the law to drink one beer. I’m going to take a shower.”

Dean nodded, then his stomach churned a little as he fought off the urge to go get another beer. _Focus, but don’t forget Castiel Novak is hiring you because he feels sorry for you. That pervert remark will never go away. He’ll never be able to look at you the same again._

Dean picked up the first page of the contract and swore out loud. $200,000 for five months of rehearsals and seven months of a tour, a $100 per diem, and a percentage of the profits. Total compensation package: a metric shit ton.

_He’s way overpaying you. You don’t deserve a quarter as much._

Full medical benefits, mental health care, and more. Dean had to read it all four times just to grasp the magnitude of it all.

_Probably added the mental health gold plan just for you. You’re gonna need it._

Then, all the little clauses. Random drug testing...all the ones he had seen before. He smiled as his eye caught a new addition at the bottom: Cecilio strings are expressly forbidden.

_Not that you’re worth the better brands._

_You should be in jail._

Dean waited until he heard Sam’s shower turn on, then got up to get another beer.


	36. Chapter 36

Dean woke up abruptly in the early morning hours, around 4am. There was a note taped directly to the lamp on the nightstand.

_DEAN: Michael is coming over with your parole officer at 8am, then he’s going to review the house arrest program with you. Read it BEFORE they get here. -SAM_

Dean sat up, feeling in low spirits and unusually gloomy for someone who had just barely escaped a year-long jail sentence. He hadn’t read the paperwork yet, and stumbled out to the dining room to get it. Sam was still awake and watching Netflix on the couch, carefully settled on his side.

“Hey,” Dean said sleepily. “You alright?

“No.” Sam’s voice was taut with irritation. “Found another empty beer can on your nightstand when I got out of the shower, and you sound asleep and drooling all over your paperwork.”

“I know. Had a bit of a day. Don’t be mad, Sam. Come on.” Dean went over to the living room and sat on the arm of the couch above his brother. “Still aching, huh? Anything I can do for you?”

“Yeah. Shoot me.”

“I can’t have firearms until September.”

“Don’t change the subject. I’ve locked my beer up and changed the passcode to the liquor cabinet.”

“Okay, good. I’ve had my last hurrah, I’m done.” They were silent for a few moments, then Dean said somberly, “Sam, I don’t know how to thank you for agreeing to put me up for four months. There really are no words I can possibly-”

“You can thank me by not fucking it up, Dean. And I have zero confidence that you won’t.”

Dean stood again and fought down a bitter comeback. “Alright. Be a dick, then. I’m gonna go do my paperwork. Let me know when we can have a civil conversation again.”

“How about when you grow the fuck up?”

”Really, Sam?”

Dean hovered in the background for a minute, hoping Sam would back down, but he just kept aggressively scrolling through his Netflix queue without ever choosing anything. So Dean took the papers and quietly went back into his room.

\----

“That’s the...the thing?” Dean asked as he disappointedly eyed the oversized ankle monitor he was doomed to lug around for the next 120 days. His parole officer, a pretty British woman - maybe Australian; Dean couldn’t quite figure out her accent - unlocked it and handed it to him.

“Not as heavy as it looks, fortunately. Familiarize yourself with it and I’ll show you how to charge it and troubleshoot. Then we’ll lock it on. Have you signed all your paperwork?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean answered distractedly as he gloomily studied in his hands.

She looked at the phone and laptop that were lying on the table, already labeled with his name and address as required. “Alright. I’ll be taking those, then. Do you have any questions for me that you think can’t be answered by your lawyer?”

“No, ma’am. I just wanted to say thank you for arranging for me to be allowed to use a landline. I know that’s not normal policy.”

“But not uncommon, since you’ll need it to find and maintain your employment. As discussed, it’s for work and medical purposes only.” She looked at Sam. “There’s a second line in his bedroom, correct? When will it be installed so we can attach it to the monitoring device?”

Sam looked unusually annoyed. Dean lifted his eyebrows at him to say _dude, take it easy._ “The line itself is already installed and active. I just need to get an actual phone cord and a phone. I can do that tonight.”

“Good. Michael, anything to add before we get this thing attached?”

“No, thank you. Sam, will you kindly-”

He didn’t finish his sentence before Sam spun around and went into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Dean was about to make a joke along the lines of _who pissed in his Cheerios?_ but wisely thought better of it and silently pulled up his pants leg as Michael and Officer Talbot exchanged _yikes_ glances.

\----------

“I feel like a freakin’ cyborg,” Dean grumbled as he sat down at the dining room table with Michael. His ankle was attached to a cord that was plugged into the wall. Three full hours a day, at least, he would have to be bound like this as the thing charged itself. It didn’t sit well with him.

Michael pulled out his briefcase and unlatched it. “Let’s get started. First, I’m not here to talk about the trio. That subject is between you and Cas alone, my part is done. I want to tell you what happened at the courthouse first, then we’ll talk about the rules. Secondly, I never want Sam to hear you complain about your home confinement. Ever. You have no idea how good you have it.”

“Definitely not getting sympathy from Sam, don’t worry.”

“I’ll tell you why. I learned of a change in judges early on Monday morning. Not uncommon, sometimes beneficial. Usually not. The one you ended up getting consistently, no - _always_ \- gives one year for third DUI offenses. She’s the fucking Terminator. So I all but had a heart attack on the way to the courthouse because only minutes earlier I talked Cas into having you back and he was finally happy.”

“Whoa.”

“Fortunately, they also switched prosecutors. Friend of mine. I told him about John bribing your lawyer, and a few other things. He removed himself from the case due to bias and summoned Sam for an emergency deposition. Sam had to agree instantly to the house arrest terms without reading them. It was that tight, we had seconds to spare. So forgive him for being grumpy for a while, okay? His entire life just changed, too, because he also has a shitload of new rules to follow. Understood?”

Dean sighed. “Great. I got onto him for being a dick.”

“You need to apologize.”

“I will.”

“Right now. Unplug yourself first.”

“But-”

“ _Go_.”

Dean went.


	37. Chapter 37

“I’m getting ready for work, Dean. Really don’t want to talk even if I wasn’t.”

Dean let the hurt show on his face for a change. “I don’t get it, Sammy. Yesterday...we were laughing together, I was actually happy for the first time in like forever. Thought you were, too. All that talk about forgiveness. We were good. What the hell happened?”

“What happened was that I finally got to read what I was forced to blindly sign at the courthouse. Didn’t realize there were so many rules I have to follow, as well. Guess who gets to be your fucking babysitter for four months?”

“Sam! Come on. Don’t do this. I didn’t ask you to sign the thing. What’s so bad about it? We’ll make it work.”

“Read it yourself. I have to go, I’m already late.”

“Your last day is Friday so what are they gonna do, fire you?”

“Missing the fucking point as always,” Sam muttered under his breath.

He strode past Dean and into the kitchen, then took some things out of the fridge. Michael watched him but said nothing, and Dean realized with a start that Sam was probably even more pissed off at the lawyer than at his brother. Not that it made it any less hurtful.

Sam quietly left without a word, and Dean sat back down. “Okay. He wasn’t talking. What’s he so pissed about? What’s in those rules?”

Michael took a deep breath. “Just five things. He can’t have visitors for four months. Has to meet with Officer Talbot every time you do. Has to shut off his wifi so you can’t use it. All the phones monitored. No alcoholic beverages in the house. That’s it, but they’re big things.”

“Great. Fucking great. So he’s probably wishing I was in jail right about now, is that the general idea I’m getting here?”

“I’m not inside his head, so I can’t speak for him. I know that he mentioned it was going to cause problems with his girlfriend because apparently she has a bunch of roommates or something, so he can’t go over to her place.”

Dean’s jaw dropped. “Sam...Sam has a _girlfriend_? Are you joking? He never told me!”

“Yeah. I had the feeling I wasn’t supposed to know either, that it just slipped out.”

“Oh my god.” Dean felt like dying a little.

_You deserve to be in jail. Now you’re a burden on your poor brother, too._

“I’m gonna text him...no I’m not. No phone.”

_Congratulations on finally reaching a recluse-level existence._

Michael gave him a few minutes to mope, then pulled out the papers again. “We need to get after this, Dean. I have to be at the office in an hour.”

“Okay, sorry.”

“Plug yourself in. Still needs to fully charge.”

Dean reached down to the cord with numb fingers and jammed the plug into the wall. “This is so...wait, sorry. Not going to complain.”

“You can complain to me all you want. Just zip it around your brother.”

“You know, I thought Sam was just pissed because Cas caned him. Didn’t realize he was regretting saving his own brother from prison.”

“You don’t know that he regrets it. Give him time to adjust.”

“Can I...can I just opt out of this and choose to go to jail instead?”

“Sure. Walk out the door and go commit another crime. Then you’re golden.”

Dean felt sick suddenly. “I’m sorry, I need some air. Like...I just need air. I’m allowed to go in the backyard, right?”

Michael nodded, so Dean jumped up and bolted from the table.

“Dean! Don’t forget to-”

Too late; Dean fell flat on his face as the ankle monitor’s cord tripped him up. Thankfully the floor was plush carpeting, but it still hurt. He sat up gingerly and laughed a little, without humor. “I sure know how to make an exit, huh?”

Michael chuckled even though he felt really bad for Dean. “I’d give it a seven out of ten for a wobble on the dismount. Listen, I can come back after work if that’s a better time for you. It’s no problem, and we won’t be as rushed. I’ll bring you some food. That sound good?”

Dean stayed on the floor, rubbing his knees, not looking at Michael for fear of bursting into tears from humiliation.

“Yeah,” he said through his hands as he massaged his forehead. “Although maybe not if Sam’s here, too. Don’t know.”

“He has a dinner tonight, he told me he’ll be back around midnight. So it should be fine.”

Dean got up and inched backwards to give the cord some slack. “Thanks, Michael. I really can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done. Don’t even know where to start.”

“Just be good for Cas, that’s all I want. Take the contract and don’t let him down. To be perfectly honest, though, none of us are 100% sure you’re going to be totally committed. He’s taking a massive risk. I’m sorry to say I was the one who originally tried to get the offer canceled. Fought with him tooth and nail. I didn’t know you then. I do now, and I talked him back into it. So what does that say about you?”

 _Shit. Tears. Again. For fuck’s sake!_ “I guess...that you think I deserve a second chance.”

“I do think that. Do you?”

“No.”

“Well, there’s your problem. And that’s not one me or Sam can solve for you. Part of your court order is weekly therapy, and if I were you, I’d start tomorrow. Sam has to set it up. I’d also get rid of that violin. The moment it sells on eBay, let it go.”

Dean was stunned. “Get...get rid of Charlie? Why? Her sound is amazing.”

“Think about why I said that. You’ll figure it out. I’ll see you tonight around 6:30.”

Michael left, and Dean automatically looked for his laptop to check eBay.

_Shit. No computer._


	38. Chapter 38

Dean slept the entire time Michael was gone. He felt amazing when he woke up just before 6, until the damned thing on his ankle got caught up in the sheets and nearly made him faceplant again. He gathered his wits and went into the bathroom and looked at the jetted jacuzzi tub longingly...it would have to wait. The device wholly prevented bathing and swimming. He couldn’t even stand to look at the pool just outside the window. It hurt.

_No complaining, Dean. At least you’re not squatting and coughing._

He was utterly caught off guard when Sam came through the front door just as he was passing through the living room to get a snack.

“Hey,” he said quickly as he changed course to intercept his brother.

“Hey. What have you been doing all day? Bored yet?”

“Not yet. Just making sure to memorize every word of my contract before I send it back to Novak.”

“Nice try, Dean. I’ve been home four times today and you’ve been dead to the world the whole time.”

 _Fuck._ “Okay. Sorry. Just...didn’t want you to think that I’m lazy or whatever.”

“Sorry, I gotta change for dinner. Can’t talk. Can you put the groceries away, please?”

“Yeah. Of course.” Dean went into the kitchen, which was loaded from top to bottom with full grocery bags. Dean had never seen so much food in one place outside of an actual grocery store.

“Having a party, Sam?” he shouted jokingly, then instantly regretted it. Not like his brother could have a party even if he wanted to. There was no response, though, and Dean congratulated himself on dodging that bullet.

He started putting the groceries away and quickly realized he was running out of space. Sam had bought most of everything in bulk, and it was nothing Dean was ever aware that he even ate.

Eventually he came back out when the job was about half done, and Dean asked, “Going to run out of space. Any preference where to put the extras?”

“Wherever it’s easiest for you.”

“For me?”

“Yeah. That’s why I have all this stuff. My company always needs volunteers to make box lunches for the homeless, but no one stepped up this week except me because it’s been kind of crazy. Figured it’d help keep you busy.”

“Oh.”

Sam pulled some folded papers out of his pocket and handed them over. “That’s the list of what goes in each box and how it’s prepared. Lots of veggies to cut up and stuff. The actual boxes are still in my car. Help me bring them in.”

Dean hesitated.

“My driveway is on the list of allowed places, Dean. Don’t you think I checked? Come on.”

The sky was as grey and dreary as Dean’s mood, but the physical activity did feel good. A nice alternative to sleeping all day, certainly. Once they were inside, he stared at the huge pile of cardboard in dismay.

“How many boxes are there?”

“Two hundred. They all need to be assembled, obviously.”

_Don’t complain. Don’t complain._

“Okay, Sam? I want to do this. I really do, I swear. Yes, it will keep me busy and occupied. But next time ask me first, okay? You know I’ll say yes, but you asking just makes me feel like I have at least a little bit of control left in my life.”

Sam acted like he hadn’t heard him. “They’ll be picked up at 5pm Thursday. Plenty of time. I’ve also got your violin in the car, and all of your bathroom stuff.”

Dean instantly darted out to get Charlie, using every ounce of strength he had not to blow up on his brother for leaving her in a hot car while he was out shopping.

“Hey, Sam? Can you do me a favor and check how much Charlie’s up to on eBay?”

“Not right now.”

“Of course. Sorry. I just thought since you had the app it would only take a second.”

Sam was sitting on the bench by the door and putting on his shoes. “Is Michael still coming over? He can look for you.”

“Yeah, he should definitely be here by now. He said 6:30. Not sure what happened. Wait...before you go. Has Castiel said anything about me since you gave me the contract? I have no idea what to say to him when I next see him.”

“Nope. He flew to London this morning for a week. I gotta go.”

“Bye Sam. Nice chat.”

“Grow up, Dean.”

\------

“What’s with all the boxes?” Michael asked quizzically as he walked in and found Dean sitting on the floor surrounded by piles of small brown cubes.

“Long story.”

“Sorry I’m late.”

“No problem. Look, I think Sam’s going to have a serious problem with this arrangement. I mean, I appreciate all you did, but...now I’m starting to think it was a really bad idea.”

“I don’t care. You were like a lamb being led to the slaughter. I have news.” Michael handed him a copy of a court summons. “Your dad and Sam are getting sued.”

“Why? By who?”

“Your sketchy lawyer narced on John for bribery. Unfortunately he also narced on Sam, so I need to have another chat with him about blackmail laws. You’d think he learned that in Stanford, but he’s not exactly the brightest bulb in the box sometimes.”

Dean went numb. “Oh, shit. What does that mean? Is Sam in trouble?”

“It’s just a civil suit so he’ll probably have to pay a settlement.”

“Oh my god. So dad knows you represented me now?”

“I’m sure he does, or will shortly. Soon you’ll be able to rest easy once it’s all out in the open and done with.”

Dean groaned. “Oh my god. Dad’s gonna kill Sam for this.”

“Not your problem. You didn’t do anything wrong. The dumbass lawyer dug his own grave. Sam, too. No idea how either of them passed the bar. Let’s eat.”


	39. Chapter 39

Sam returned home just as Dean and Michael were finishing up the checklist that had to be completed to ensure the house could be made compliant with the court orders. Dean wasn’t exactly shocked that his brother and lawyer were no longer on speaking terms, but it still hurt to see Sam’s icy cold dismissal of him.

Michael ignored the glares entirely, but he eventually had to ask Sam to unlock the liquor cabinet and pour everything out. Dean tensed, expecting fireworks, but Sam calmly complied and didn’t complain before disappearing again.

“Okay Dean, that was the last step. We’re done here. Looks good. I have your laptop in my car. Normally we ask for permission first to make modifications, but I figured you wouldn’t mind if they went ahead.”

“Modifications?”

“Yes, removing the Ethernet ports and the WiFi receiver so it can’t connect to the internet. You’ll need the machine in order to complete your rehab treatment plan, since all the documents and programs are on CD. There’s lots of journaling involved, and stuff like that. Pretty intensive. I’ll go get it. Be right back.”

Dean watched him go. Journaling? _Dear journal, same entry as yesterday: my brother is a dick._

Sam came out to the kitchen again to get something and Dean subconsciously shrunk back into his chair and tried to make himself invisible. Sam saw it.

“Relax, Dean. Jesus. I’m not going to hit you. We’ll talk after he leaves.”

Dean’s heart glowed for a fraction of a second at that, then went cold again at the thought of what that conversation could entail.

——

“What’s that?” Sam asked, pointing to a rectangular plastic object on the table.

“External CD drive. You do know this whole thing wasn’t my idea, right? That I’d rather be in jail than piss you off even half as much as this? Especially now that I know you have a girlfriend. If there’s anything I can do-”

“Had.”

“What?”

“Had a girlfriend. Past tense as of tonight.”

“Oh. Fuck. I’m sorry. I hope it’s not because of...all this?” _Because of me._

“She’s a shitty person.”

Dean didn’t know what to say, and he certainly wasn’t going to ask why he’d kept her a secret.

“Sorry, Sam.”

“She was pissed at me for agreeing to this whole thing and said you deserved to be in jail. Fuck her. So are you gonna sign Novak’s contract, or what? You haven’t said anything about it.”

Dean’s stomach briefly fluttered with hope and pride at Sam’s implied defense of him, then soured a little at Sam referring to Cas as Novak. “Yeah. Are you upset at him?” he asked meekly, not wanting to cause another argument.

“Yeah. All three of them ganged up on me again about the dad thing. I told them to back off and it was none of their business.”

“It really isn’t at this point. Good for you. Michael told me a little about the lawsuit but if you don’t want to talk about it that’s okay.”

Sam cocked his head a little. “What do you think about it? Was I in the wrong?”

Dean gulped. “I’m torn on that. You were protecting me, but I wish you hadn’t done it because it got you in more trouble with dad.”

“Yeah. You know what, Dean? You’ve always said you started drinking because of Lisa. But the timing isn’t right.” He sat down backwards onto a dining room chair and regarded his brother thoughtfully. “And why relapse again two years later when nothing really happened with her? I guess what I’m asking...is if you started drinking initially, and again, because of dad. You started to kinda go downhill after that fight when he said you have no talent.”

Dean blushed a little, and he took a long draw of his soda as he gathered his thoughts.

“You want me to be honest, Sammy?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Not expecting to.”

“I mean. You’re really, really, _really_ not going to like it.”

Sam’s eyebrows drew together in concern, and he just nodded. Dean thought it looked like he regretted asking.

“Okay, here goes. Don’t be mad at me. I had to find some way to cope with dad micromanaging my life. Since, apparently, I wasn’t strong enough to tell him to stop. Now both of you do it, by the way. Every damned day. The second time was to cope with all your elitist bullying about me playing weddings and being a mere elementary school teacher on one tenth of your salary. So.”

Sam nodded again, but said nothing.

“I don’t blame you for the micromanaging thing. That’s all dad. But the rest of it...that’s all you. I’m sad my career went this way, too, but at least for a while I was making a difference to a small group of kids. And you know what, Sam? I loved that job. I was really happy.”

“Got it.” Sam stood up again and replaced the chair, obviously too perturbed to bite back with his usual sarcasm. “Let’s, uh...let's get these meals started for the homeless thing. It’s way too much work for one person. Besides, I got some kickass new knives months ago and I’m dying to try them out.”

Dean stood up, his heart cautiously lifting a little. “Probably should start on the carrots since they will keep the longest. I’ll peel them for you.”

Sam nodded. “Okay. I’ll stack these boxes up first and get them out of the way. Let’s put some music on. What do you want to listen to?”

“Anything but classical, honestly.”

“Same.”

Dean went into the kitchen and yanked open the fridge, a thin half-smile formed on his lips that didn’t quite have the enthusiasm yet to go full. It might be a while for that. He dragged out the huge tray of veggies and placed them on the counter just as the sounds of Led Zeppelin burst from Sam’s enormous speakers.


	40. Chapter 40

The brothers didn’t talk much while they worked on the meals together until 1am, but Dean was relieved they managed to cordially work out how much rent he’d pay. Long after Sam went to bed, while Dean was sitting at the dining room installing the rehab program on his Mac, a shocking series of squeals suddenly emitted from the ankle monitor. In a panic Dean ran over to the wall and unwound the cord and plugged it in, praying it wouldn’t wake up his brother.

Too late. Sam came dashing out in his boxers, bleary-eyed and messy-haired and thoroughly bewildered.

“What the fuck is that?”

“My battery warning. It was supposed to last 24 hours but…I don’t know why it’s still doing it!”

Sam took one look at his brother sitting on the floor against the wall; wide-eyed and regretful and frantic. Then his eyes trailed along the cord, and Dean saw him make a huge swallow.

“That plug is off,” he shouted over the squealing. “Hang on, I got it.”

He flipped a switch near the front door and the racket instantly stopped; the torchiere lamp also plugged into that socket instantly blinding them both.

Dean threw a hand over his eyes. “Ow.”

“Fuck,” Sam muttered as he clicked it off. “Well, that makes sense now. It wasn’t charging the first time.”

There was an awkward pause as his attention reluctantly returned to the cord that leashed Dean to the wall. Another deep swallow.

“It’s not forever, Sam,” Dean said quietly.

Sam turned away. “Going back to bed. Been a day.”

“Yeah. Goodnight. Sorry again.”

No answer.

—-

Dean almost didn’t sign his contract the next day. Nearly called it quits right then and there after dwelling on this single clause:

_-Performer agrees to accept criticism and correction without complaint at all times_

When he’d first read it, Dean didn’t think much about it. But the more he thought about it, the more annoyed it made him, until could think of nothing else. Was he not going to be allowed to defend himself against unfair critique? Be obliged to zip his mouth shut if he disagreed? And criticism on what, exactly - his playing? His lifestyle choices? His preference in sports teams? Could he not speak out if he was unfairly blamed for something?

Sam was at work, so Dean couldn’t ask for clarification to help suss out the exact meaning behind these clauses. Besides being annoyed, though, he was also somewhat fearful. He knew he was outspoken and prone to reacting very poorly to negative feedback. In fact, he couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t lashed out...except with his dad sometimes.

Underneath that clause was the list of corrections for any offense or rule-breaking, listed in order of the level of severity: reduction in pay, suspension, termination. Other corrections especially for tour travel were listed, such as early curfew or confinement to a hotel room, and Dean was okay with that. Those were no big deal.

But not being able to disagree when criticized? _Not_ okay. At all.

The last page of the contract consisted of the caning clause, which could be accepted in lieu of suspension or termination. Basically, it said that if a performer did something bad enough to violate Novak’s trust or cause some kind of other disaster, the result would be either caning if opted in, or termination if not.

Dean had quickly accepted the caning option, because he wanted an alternative to termination, which would be entirely disastrous. Punishment was cleansing, it was over quickly, and he could move on without moping. He always had. He also wasn’t concerned about Sam’s description of how it felt; his brother always had a very low pain threshold and could barely tolerate a simple hand spanking when they were little. That he had actually handled the cane without completely falling to pieces impressed Dean, who thought it couldn’t be _that_ bad if that was the case.

Dean had no way of knowing how much this assumption would come back to bite him in the ass later...so to speak.

\----

Dean was dozing off early the next morning when the new phone rang for the first time. It was right next to his head, and so loud in the quiet that at first he thought his ankle monitor was losing its shit again.

Once he collected his wits, he picked up the phone irritably, unreasonably expecting it to be Sam, who was still asleep in the master bedroom far down the hall.

“Whaaaaat Sam?”

“Hello, Dean.”

“Oh. Um, hello. Mr, Novak. Sorry, thought you were going to be Sam.” He could feel his cheeks burning fiercely.

“I left you two messages that you haven’t returned. Why?”

Dean sat up with a start. “Oh...my cell phone was taken away. Sorry. I thought you knew.”

“I called this line and left two messages.”

Dean reached over and flipped the big phone around. Sure enough, the built-in answering machine showed a 2. Castiel must have called while Dean was in the shower, or out in the yard.

“Oh god. I am so sorry.”

Castiel grunted. “I called to see if you have any questions about the contract.”

At 5am Dean’s brain was not exactly ready for this type of conversation, but he gave it a go.

“Yes, sir. I’m fine with everything except the part where I’m not allowed to complain.”

“You haven’t paid millions to go on tour with your own performers yet. When you do, you’ll understand.”

“Can you give me a sneak peek?”

“Talented musicians inevitably become spoiled brats on contract. They stop listening. They need a constant reminder of who is in charge to keep their egos in check. I’ve seen it every contract for twenty years, even with the clause. It’s no longer negotiable.”

“Oh.”

“Is it a dealbreaker?”

“No, sir.”

“Any other questions?”

“No, sir.”

“Call you tomorrow.”

Castiel hung up.

Dean picked his pen back up and finally signed the contract.

 


	41. Chapter 41

Dean had fully expected (and dreaded) Novak wanting to chat with him prior to the trio’s first rehearsal, and he had practiced his apology for the pervert comment multiple times. It didn’t happen that way, however. Novak never actually called him back when he said he would; Gabriel was the one who continued the discussions and set up the first rehearsal for the trio.

It was fortunate that Dean’s terms of house arrest included being able to leave for work, or else he would have been completely screwed. He had been confined for 9 days already, and leaving the house made him surprisingly anxious. He hadn’t realized how safe and content he’d felt until the environment changed again, when he and Sam walked into the concert hall with their instruments. There was an absurdly thick folder of music on each of their stands, a large water bottle next to each chair, and a small sign on the wall that said “no electronics.”

Dean looked down at his ankle automatically. The monitor couldn’t been seen through his jeans, but he was keenly aware of it since it was irritating the hell out of his skin. Sam glanced at it too, but said nothing.

He was doing a lot of that lately: saying nothing. It said more than it didn’t, but at least he’d been trying valiantly not to be bossy and controlling. _Trying_ being the operative word.

Dad had shown up five days ago and read both his sons the riot act, then thoroughly belted Sam for tricking him. Sam had actually been given the choice to take it or not, and to Dean’s enduring surprise, he’d quietly said he deserved it and submitted. Then dad had calmed down, told his boys he loved them, and left without another harsh word. They had no idea where he’d gone, or if he’d ever return. Dean knew the incident was constantly on his brother's mind.

“Sam?” he called quietly.

“Yeah?” Sam was yanking open his cello case aggressively.

“I’m a bit worried about where your head is right now. You gonna be able to focus?”

“No.”

“Okay, well...we can’t blow this. Can you just forget about everything else for the next three hours, please?”

Sam laughed bitterly. “Easy for you to say.”

“Easy?” he retorted, yanking up the leg of his jeans. “You think _you_ have problems? I’ll happily trade you. Not to mention I called our new boss a pervert to his face and he hasn’t let me apologize yet!”

“Dean,” came a voice over the theater’s speakers, causing the brothers to jump. Gabriel was way back in the booth, peering down at them from his perch almost near the ceiling. “We’ll be recording this rehearsal, so I’m setting up the microphones now. Including the one two feet from your mouth.”

“Oh.” Dean turned a dozen shades of purple in the space of five seconds. “I didn’t know.”

“There was a huge sign on the door when you came in that said _recording in progress_. Not really sure how much clearer we could be.”

Sam sniggered, so Dean threw him a dirty look.

“Tune up, please,” Gabriel added curtly just as the sound of a perfect A floated over the speakers.

Dean shakily picked up his violin and attached the shoulder rest, carefully watching his brother the whole time. Then he played the A, the E, the D and G, and a series of double stops. Perfect.

Sam just sat there, scowling and petulant.

“Tune up, Sam,” Gabriel prompted after a few moments.

“Sam, come on,” Dean urged.

Novak walked in at that moment from a silent swinging door behind Sam. Dean stiffened up enough that his brother instantly caught on and began tuning.

“Mr. Novak,” said Dean politely as his boss came up to the center of the stage. “It’s an honor to be here, sir. Thank you.”

Castiel just stared at him. Not unfriendly, not hostile, just...not warmly, at all. Dean shuddered a little.

“We’ll start with the Fauré. It should be the first one in the folder.”

“This is a lot of music,” Sam said pleasantly and he flipped open the binder. “I’m really excited to see what you have in store for us.”

Castiel went to the piano and sat down to warm up while the brothers exchanged anxious looks. Despite his nervousness, Dean felt absurdly giddy from sitting only 10 feet away from the piano of his childhood idol and legend. When Novak played a few chords, a huge thrill ran physically down Dean’s spine and he began grinning like a fool.

When Novak stopped and the little stage fell silent a short time later, he blurted to Sam, “this is so cool!” like a little kid walking into Disneyland for the first time.

“No small talk after I sit down behind the piano,” Castiel responded flatly. “Gabriel, play the recording. Gents, close your eyes and listen. I’ll ask you afterwards what you think the piece is trying to tell us. There is no wrong answer.”

Dean set his violin on his stand and settled down in his chair, clasping his hands in his lap to keep them from jumping off his wrists and bolting out the door.

After minute or so into the music, Dean’s ankle monitor gave a single, semi-loud chirp that indicated someone - probably Officer Talbot - had actively pinged his location. It happened randomly about ten times a day. He forced himself not to react.

_No small talk._

_You deserve to be in jail._

_Not here, making 200 grand to tour the world._

“Dean?” Castiel prompted a short time later.

“Yes, sir?”

“Keep your mind on the music. The outside world doesn't exist in this room.”

Gulp. “Yes, sir.”

“And Sam, stop fidgeting.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Gabriel, start it over. I couldn’t focus either.”

“I’m sorry about the beep,” Dean said very quickly, not being able to help himself.

“What did I just say about small talk?”

“Sorry.”

 _Chirp_.

Dean felt like crying.


	42. Chapter 42

Despite the painfully rough start to rehearsal and some initial doubts of his own sanity in signing on, Dean quickly realized he had made the right choice. Novak was a legend for a reason. His technical expertise was entirely expected and did not disappoint. But his willingness to bend to his charges’ different interpretations of it, and his gentle guidance while sight-reading music was quite pleasant and unanticipated.

He had asked their opinion of the Fauré after playing through it twice. Sam liked it; Dean admitted he thought it was pleasant but uninteresting. Novak discarded the music into a separate pile.

“This is why our binder of music is so thick,” he explained as Dean tried to stutter out an apology. “No one can put a hundred percent of their effort and passion into a piece they don’t like. So we’re going through a hundred of them to find what we like, and I expect you not to hold back in your opinions.”

Ravel, which Sam disliked. Discarded. A contemporary piece all of them liked. Kept. A modern one Novak didn’t like. Discarded. Then it was time to take a break, and Dean was astonished to find they had already been playing for two hours. It felt like half an hour at the most.

Sam and Dean first went to the bathroom together, then across the hall into a small kitchen to make coffee. Sam had his phone out despite Novak’s insistence that they focus on nothing external for three hours.

“Put it away, Sam.”

“Just got a notification from eBay. Charlie sold for $9,300.”

“Oh god, I totally forgot about that! You have to cancel the auction.”

Novak came into the kitchen and Sam froze as the man rested his eyes on the iPhone in his hand.

“Um-”

“Were my instructions in any way unclear, Sam?” he asked icily. “I said to leave your phone in the green room.”

Sam jammed the phone back into his pocket.

“No. Sorry. Won’t happen again.”

 _Oh, shit._ Dean backed out of the kitchen as fast as his dignity allowed and went back into the rehearsal room. Gabriel was there, absently flipping through the small pile of discarded music.

“Dean?”

“Yes?” It was the first time Gabriel had addressed him since leaving the dinner table two weeks ago, and Dean didn’t know what to expect.

“I have connections to some very high-end instruments that you should consider. Let me know if you decide to move on from Charlie.”

“I don’t want to, but thank you.” Not least because they would be incredibly expensive. “May I ask you something personal?”

“You can ask, but I may not answer.”

Dean nodded, then braced himself.

“Do you think your brother will ever forgive me for what I said?”

“You should ask him.”

“I’m asking you.”

Gabriel blinked in surprise. “That’s ballsy.”

“I really need to know,” Dean replied simply. “I’ve been in agony. Please. At least just maybe help guide me on how to approach him.”

“I don’t speak for my brother, sorry. But I will set up a meeting between you two if he says I can.”

Dean huffed a little, feeling thoroughly irritated as he remembered the Messenger incident. “So I take it this is a habit of yours, just blatantly dismissing anyone who asks for your advice? Superiority complex much? I don’t need your help anyway.”

He angrily turned away from Gabriel’s astonished expression and picked up his violin as Novak returned with a sheepish-looking Sam in tow. Once they were settled again, Gabriel left the stage and the three men placed the next piece of music on their stands.

“This is one that I wrote,” Castiel said. “It’s not for the tour. But we’re going to play it through as a technical exercise.”

Five sharps, 7/4 meter. Dean sucked in a breath; the last four pieces had been a piece of cake compared to this. On the downbeat he promptly hit a D natural instead of a D sharp and physically cringed.

“Keep going,” Castiel said calmly. “I’ll never get upset as long as you’re trying.”

Then Sam hit a few sour notes in a row, and true to his word, Castiel said nothing and didn’t seem perturbed at all. Gabriel was now seated in the front row watching Dean closely and with a neutral expression.

“This next passage,” narrated Castiel as he continued playing, “is the most important, lyrically speaking. We drop to a sudden silence for three bars, and it’s crucial that you don’t rustle around or make any noise or the audience will think the piece is over. Here it comes. Don’t move.”

A few beats of a pleasantly void silence, then...

_Chirp!_

“Fuck!” Dean grumbled under his breath automatically.

Castiel stopped playing, so Dean set his violin irritably on his knee. There was nothing to say. He’d apologized before, no doubt he’d be apologizing again, and it would all happen again and the cycle would repeat. He was well and truly fucked for 111 more days.

“We’ll start from measure 180,” Castiel said, his voice was taut with annoyance. “Don’t take the repeat this time-”

_Chirp!_

That was it. Dean couldn’t stand it anymore. He roughly hung Charlie on the stand hook and stood up unsteadily. “I’m sorry, I need a break. I know we just took one, but-”

“Sit down.”

“What?”

“I said sit down, Dean,” Castiel said firmly. “Pick your violin back up. We’re starting at measure 180. Sam, watch your-”

“I can’t,” Dean interrupted. “I’m sorry.”

The three men watched as Dean bolted out of the rehearsal hall.

Castiel paused, then shut the piano lid. “Sam, take him home. We’ll call it a day.”

“I’m so sorry-”

“It’s alright. Go. See you both tomorrow.”

Sam left a little too hastily as Gabriel came to the foot of the stage and looked up at his brother.

“Told you so.”

“You did. But you said he’d run off _before_ the break.”

Gabriel shrugged. “Close enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you're all impatient for the actual caning parts. Next chapter is the first time Dean gets it, and from then on it's pretty steady. Thanks for sticking with me and for commenting, I truly appreciate it.


	43. Chapter 43

Dean woke up abruptly to a purple and orange setting sun, a hand on his shoulder, and a phone handset being pushed into his face.

“Cas is on the line for you,” Sam whispered.

“Fuck. I can’t,” Dean buried his head into his pillow.

“Too bad. Wake up. Time to man up and pay the piper.”

Dean glared daggers and reluctantly took the phone. “This is Dean,” he answered politely while grumpily waving Sam away so he could speak in private.

“Hello, Dean. I’m not going to ask you what happened earlier today. I’m going to _tell_ you what happened.”

“Okay...”

Castiel’s tone was calm and pleasant despite the circumstances. “You actually committed an egregious breach of contract. Abandoning a rehearsal is serious business due to my limited availability to reschedule.”

Dean felt his usual sickly shame at having failed again. “Honestly, I wouldn’t blame you for firing me. It’s okay. Especially after what I said.”

“Do you _want_ me to fire you?” Castiel asked tensely.

 _Yes_. “No, sir.”

“Good, because that would be tougher than you think, and very expensive for me. Your contract is fairly iron-clad, Dean. It’s not something you can run away from, and neither can I. As for what you said a couple weeks ago, I have a feeling that ‘pervert’ thing was an idea your father put in your head. Considering what I know now about his character, and how poorly he influences you, I’m willing to let it pass.”

“I’m not. It’s been eating at me for two weeks. I need to apologize.”

“What you need is self-control and perhaps a prescription for anxiety medication.”

The casual way Castiel said that caught Dean so off guard that he actually had to laugh. “That, too.”

“It wasn’t intended humorously.”

“I know. That’s why it was funny.”

“I don’t understand.”

Against his will, Dean found himself warming up to Castiel Novak, as prickly and abrupt as the man could be most of the time.

“Never mind, sorry. Can we meet tomorrow? I don’t think a phone apology is going to do it for me.”

“Yes. I also expect you to give Gabriel a thorough, sincere apology for the way you spoke to him so disrespectfully today. You can meet with him before me. 9am.”

_Shit, really? Gabriel told on me? Dick._

“Of course. Thank you, sir. See you tomorrow.”

Dean got up and returned the handset to Sam.

“I need to be there a little early tomorrow. 9am. Do you mind?”

“Got an appointment for an ass-beating?” Sam grinned.

“Shut up. I have to go call Officer Talbot and let her know.”

Dean called and was surprised when she said she was on the way to the house.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No. We’re going to change out your ankle monitor to one that vibrates instead of beeping when we ping you.”

“Wow, that’s great. Thank you so much!”

“When Novak asks, we deliver. He’s kind of a big deal.”

Dean sat on the bed and pulled a pillow across his lap. “I’m sorry, what? _Novak_ asked? Like, personally? _Himself_?”

“Yep, called me this morning. We had one sent up from San Diego, since we ran out of them.”

“Holy shit.”

“That’s what I said when I heard his voice. He cares a lot about you. See you soon.”

\---

“What’s this about, Dean?” Gabriel was very late, and Dean was all but writhing at the thought of keeping Castiel waiting.

“Your brother didn’t tell you?”

“No.”

“I wanted to apologize to you for the way I talked to you yesterday. I’m very sorry. It was rude and impulsive and...I hope you can forgive me. It won’t happen again.”

Gabriel looked disappointed. “Oh. I was hoping you were coming to ask about violins.”

Dean wrung his hands. This was not how it was supposed to go. Like at all.

“No. As I said, I hope you can forgive me.”

“Sure. Please excuse me, Dean.” Gabriel reached for a folder and flipped it open. “I’ve got a concert tour to plan.”

“But-”

“You can go.”

The rude dismissal caused Dean’s stomach to twist and burn as he braced himself and knocked on Castiel’s door.

“Enter.” Novak looked up from his planning calendar and saw Dean’s stricken expression. “What’s wrong? Sit down.”

 _Your brother is a dick, that’s all._ “Gabriel wasn’t ready to accept an apology yet.”

“Typical. But I’m ready to accept yours, so let’s hear it.”

Dean cleared his throat roughly. “Yes, sir. I don’t even know if any apology would suffice, to be honest. You’ve done so much for me, including this new ankle monitor. I’ve done nothing for you except piss you and your brothers off and waste your time. The truth is that I left yesterday because I don’t feel like I deserve to be here.”

“You were hoping I would fire you so that you don’t have to face those feelings, am I right? Big fan of self-fulfilling prophecies?”

Dean nodded reluctantly. He hadn’t realized that before, but now that Novak said it...

“I forgive you, without conditions. I’m not a psychologist, Dean, but I know a lot about how guilt and self-loathing works. I see a lot of young me in you. Far too much for comfort. Trust me, you’re headed down an incredibly dark path if you don’t pull it together. What can I do to help you move on from this?”

“The last page of the contract. That clause. It’s what I deserve.”

“No, you don’t. And I’m the one who decides that, not you.”

“You should decide it, then, because I can’t accept your forgiveness without it. And I’m going to keep fu...messing up until you do. I know me. Sorry, but that’s the truth. If you really _do_ see yourself in me, you know I’m right.”

Castiel was silent for a minute.

“It’s going to hurt. I don’t do this for the sport of it.”

Dean steeled himself. “Understood.”

“Alright. Let’s go next door.”


	44. Chapter 44

Castiel led Dean to a small unused room next to his office that had no windows or doors leading to the hallway. Dean was immensely grateful for the privacy.

“Dean, I’m going to ask you one more time if this is really what you want.”

“This is what I want.”

“Alright. I rarely have to take this step, just so you know. Sam was the first one in probably 8 or 9 months. Frankly, in this day and age, I’m surprised anyone opts into that clause at all. You’d be surprised how many do, and how many are glad they did. Punishment can be very cleansing for some, and can make matters worse for others. If it turns out this isn’t for you, we will revisit the policy afterwards. But right now, you’re committed to it and we’re going to see it through.”

Dean nodded; his hands were sweating but he was determined to take this as stoically as possible. “How many are you gonna…umm...”

“I’ll start you off with two: one for the pervert comment and one for leaving rehearsal. That’s all I feel is necessary. If you want more, tell me. Don’t overdo it. I never give more than six. I’ll give you a few minutes alone to think about it.”

He left and closed the door without remembering to turn the light on, leaving Dean in the pitch black. He had to stagger around like a mummy, feeling the walls to find the light switch, but the absurd mental imagery of what he must look like was a welcome distraction. He felt himself cheering up a little when the light finally popped on.

Then on to business. One for calling Novak a pervert. Two for leaving the rehearsal. Three for putting him through the ordeal of dealing with his dad when Sam’s lies got out of control. Four for taking so long to make up his mind about signing the contract. Five for arguing with Gabriel. Six for his guilt over Michael not being paid to be his lawyer.

So, six it was. Of course it was. Had he been given any longer to think, Dean could have come up with twenty reasons. Castiel was back sooner than expected with the cane in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.

“Give me a number.”

“Six.”

Castiel handed him the water, but Dean declined, so he set it down on the table instead. “I’m subtracting one for you being treated poorly by my brothers in the beginning. You didn’t deserve that, and I know they were the reason you got so spooked about signing on in the first place. I hope you’ve forgiven them, or will soon. Turn around and put your hands on the wall.”

Dean complied, thinking there would be more conversation, but he was mistaken.

Castiel wasn’t going to waste time, and he wasn’t fucking kidding about it hurting. _Shit._

The first stripe smarted like nothing he’d ever felt before, even though he didn’t need to move at first because the sharp, blooming burn took a few seconds to manifest. Once it did, he had to step away to collect himself. Tears were already forming in his eyes, and it took great effort to catch his breath and keep himself from gasping like a drowning man.

“ _Ouch_ ,” he complained offhandedly, in lieu of the dozen curse words he would have chosen under different circumstances. He was half-convinced the cane had gone straight through his clothes and made contact with his pelvic bones.

_Shit. Maybe I should have stuck with two! Four more...fuck._

“You’re forgiven for calling me a pervert,” Castiel said coolly. “Now onto the second one. Hands back on the wall.”

“Sorry, wait, I just...need one second.” Dean picked up the water bottle and took a deep, desperate glug in order to help buy more time and steady his heart. Forgiven for the pervert comment, then. Okay. That was a good start. Four more.

_You can do this._

_You deserve to be in jail...up against the wall for another reason._

“I’m sorry,” Dean breathed as he resumed his position. “That hurt a lot more than I expected.”

“No talking, please.”

Dean settled and replaced his hands on the wall again. His desire not to disappoint Castiel was fortunately stronger than his desire to flee.

The second one was the exact same as the first, a little higher, but Dean held on with all his willpower and didn’t jump away.

“Forgiven for bolting out of rehearsal. Here comes the third one.”

 _Fuck._ Dean had to step away again, this time to lean his back up against the wall to keep his knees from going out underneath him. “I know you said no talking, but that one was for you having to deal with my dad after Sam lied for me. I’m sorry.”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes it was. Long story.”

Dean turned back around; his ass was numb now. Number four came down seconds later and barely registered. “That was for insulting your brothers.”

“Well-earned,” Castiel remarked calmly.

Number five was originally going to be for Michael’s free services, but Dean realized that was Castiel’s doing. Not his. Change of plans.

“I’m ready.”

The fifth one hurt much worse than the others, being lower than all of them. He gasped.

_For always being a huge burden on Sam._

Castiel set the cane down on the table. “We’re done, you can relax. I expect you to forgive yourself as wholly as I have forgiven you. 30 minutes until rehearsal.”

He left quietly. Dean cried through an entire box of tissue in 20 minutes, then ventured into the bathroom to examine the damage. It wasn’t even close to the disaster area that it felt like.

And the angry white noise in his head? It was blessedly gone.

“Feel better?” Castiel asked softly as Dean carried Charlie onstage.

“Yes, sir. But, um...do you mind if I play standing up?"


	45. Chapter 45

Broken Glass #2. The one Sam had played with Gabriel when Dean bailed on his callback over a month ago. Seven sharps.

“Oh, I get it,” Dean blurted with a grin. “Broken Glass. Seven sharps. Glass is sharp. Nice wordplay.”

Castiel rested his hands on the keys and shot a look at Dean, who cringed internally. _No small talk, idiot._

“We’re going to listen to a recording of it first. Quietly, if possible.”

Sam looked at Dean and mouthed _why are you standing?_

Dean shot his brother the middle finger and closed his eyes to listen. He hated every second of it, just as he had when he was learning it, but obviously Novak liked it a lot or else he wouldn’t have chosen it for both the audition or the performance.

When it was over, Castiel asked their thoughts on it.

Sam replied first. “Like I said at my audition, it’s one of my favorite new pieces. Interesting counter-melodies and a fun challenge.”

“It’s good, I like it,” Dean lied smoothly.

“Hmmm,” Castiel responded after a moment, his expression suspicious. “Let’s try playing it.”

Castiel stopped the brothers halfway through.

“Dean, I thought I made it clear to you that I really don’t appreciate having my time wasted?”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s clear you were only saying you liked it because you know that I do.”

Dean nodded numbly. “Sorry, I...yeah, I didn’t like it, at all.”

“That’s fine. It’s not for everyone. Look, I know we are fairly new to each other, but dishonesty is a major deal-breaker for me. Sam has already learned that lesson well. It wastes time and creates distrust. You need to know that when I ask for your opinion, it means I actually want _your_ opinion. Not mine.”

“I do know that, sorry. Won’t happen again.”

Castiel nodded and irritably flipped to the next piece of music. Dean realized he was incredibly humiliated at being upbraided in front of his brother, and vaguely angry about it as well...especially because Sam was smirking at him in that way that always had annoyed him ever since they were kids.

“ _Sam,_ ” Dean warned, shooting him a _fucking stop smirking at me_ glare.

 _Buzz_ went the ankle bracelet.

Dean felt his temper flare up further and he opened his mouth to say something; he wasn’t sure what, but anything rude would do.

“Pull out the Brahms,” Castiel interrupted as soon as he saw his violinist’s mouth open again. “Sit down, Dean.”

Dean froze. “What?”

“Sit down. I don’t like you standing, it’s throwing me off.”

Sam’s smirk increased tenfold. _He knew._

“Sir, can I just-”

“No.”

Dean went to get a chair and dragged it over, then carefully sat down on it, purposely avoiding Sam’s amused watchfulness.

_Ouch! Motherfucker!_

“Pull out the Brahms,” Castiel repeated calmly.

Dean felt his eyes starting to water, but he clamped his mouth shut and brought the sheet music forward. The recording played, but his thoughts were wholly concentrated on the best way to murder his brother and get away with it scot-free.

“Opinions, gentlemen?”

This time, Dean answered first. Novak wanted honesty, right? “I wasn’t listening, sir. Too busy being pissed off at my idiot brother.”

 _Silence_. Sam’s expression was utterly priceless; Dean suddenly wished he had his phone back so he could snap a photo.

“Wait for me in my office, please. I’ll be right there,” Castiel replied. Dean jumped up and left the stage, fuming and in agony from the waist down, and stewed for the several minutes it took for Castiel to arrive.

“That was messed up,” Dean said quickly. “You could have let me stay standing.”

“Shut the door.”

Dean did, and Castiel crossed his arms. “Tell me what happened. I’m confused about why you were upset with Sam all of a sudden.”

 _None of your fucking business,_ Dean wanted to say. “It’s a brother thing.”

“I have seven brothers.”

“Then you know what I mean.”

Castiel sighed. “Your contract stipulates that you have to complete an anger management program before the tour, not to mention all of the ongoing therapy. Have you started any of it yet?”

“No.”

“Okay, Dean. Let’s nip this all in the bud right now. I expect you to start all of it within 72 hours. Furthermore, the disrespectful way you’re talking to me is going to stop as of this moment. I don’t care how upset you are with Sam...for something that is entirely your fault, by the way.”

“My fault?”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “As you know, your contract clearly spelled out that you aren’t to complain about receiving criticism and correction. We even talked about it, so don’t feign ignorance. Right now, I’m criticizing you for losing your temper and acting childish. If you want to respectfully disagree, you’re more than welcome to address it in our weekly meeting in two days. Are we clear?”

Dean nodded, his anger backing off just a little. “Sam was acting childish, too,” he complained lamely, the words instantly making him flush with shame.

“He wasn’t being disruptive, you were. We’re going back into the concert hall now to continue the rehearsal. I expect you to conduct yourself professionally at all times. If you want to fight with Sam again or even punch him in the face again, that’s fine. I do know how brothers work things out. But do it on your own time.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean responded placatingly, finally accepting he was pushing his boss too far. “Can I stand? My ass...I mean, I respectfully request to not have to sit down. Please.”

Castiel nodded. “Yes. Thank you for asking politely. I didn’t ask you to do it out of cruelty. I actually thought it will help calm you down. Obviously I was wrong.”

They returned to the stage, and Dean glanced at his brother while raising his stand to the correct height again.

Sam smirked infuriatingly. Again.

_Buzz._

Dean ignored them both, and suddenly felt much calmer.

  
  
  



	46. Chapter 46

Dean and Sam almost made it all the way through the rest of the day without fucking up again in front of Novak.

_Almost..._

It happened after they had gotten coffee together before a meeting with Gabriel and Castiel. Dean had all but forgotten the earlier incident with being called into Castiel’s office, since Sam had behaved himself perfectly afterwards and quit antagonizing his brother. Also...it was strange, but the persistent underlying pain in his ass actually did help calm Dean. He didn’t know why, and he wasn’t going to question it right now. His closest guess was that it provided enough of a distraction to keep him from focusing on anything else long enough for it to escalate.

And strangely...he had been actually happy the last hour of the rehearsal with how things were gelling together in his head. Grudges were forgotten. The black clouds over his head turned to light grey. It was an odd feeling, being satisfied and hopeful like this, Dean thought. Hadn’t felt that in a while. He could actually play music again without thinking of a hundred other things at the same time. Maybe everything was going to be okay after all..?

Then Sam suddenly teased him and playfully slapped him on the ass as they were walking down the hallway to Novak’s office. Dean yelped and spilled his coffee on himself, then spun around and solidly clocked his brother in the face. Right in front of Gabriel and an entire class of high schoolers who were filing into the concert hall a few doors away for a rehearsal.

\----------

“We are so screwed,” Dean complained as they drove away a short time later. Castiel had furiously canceled the meeting upon hearing what happened and sent them both home without any discussion. Neither brother had any idea what was going to happen next.

“I fucked up, Dean. I’m sorry,” Sam said as soon as they had turned the corner.

“You _think_? It’s a good thing dad wasn’t there. You wouldn’t have any skin left on your ass afterwards!”

Sam didn’t respond to that, since they both knew it was one hundred percent truth.

“Sam, I swear to god. If you cost me this job...I have to be employed, or I go back to jail. You know that, right? What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry,” Sam repeated. “Jesus, I barely touched you. Don’t be a pussy.”

“A _pussy_?” Now Dean was completely irate. “You got a taste of that fucking cane, don’t tell me you don’t know what it was like afterwards. You’re a douchebag.”

“How many did you get?” Sam asked after a long silence.

“Five.”

Sam braked the car hard and Dean lurched forward a few inches, causing the seatbelt to lock around him suddenly.

“Ow! Sam!”

_“Five?”_

“What the fuck? Don’t stop like that. Yeah. Five. How many did _you_ get?”

“Um. One.”

Dean thought he hadn’t heard his brother correctly.

“What?”

“Dean, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“You got one _?_ And you’re calling _me_ a pussy? You whined about it for days!”

“Yeah, because it fucking hurt. There is no way I could have taken five. What the hell? Why so many? That’s like, cruel and unusual punishment.”

Dean fell quiet, not wanting to admit how much it had actually helped him focus and stay calm. If Sam’s teasing was bad now, it would be merciless later.

“Fuck, Dean. Don’t tell me you asked for it again. Like you did from dad.”

“Shut up.”

“Oh my god. What are you, a secret masochist? How come I never knew this?”

Dean glared at his brother, and his tone became dangerous. “Shut up Sam, or I swear to god I’ll start throwing punches again. And this time I won’t stop with one. I’m not kidding.”

“Fine.” Sam hit the gas again and focused his whole attention on the road while his brother writhed in the passenger seat.

“When we get home you have to set up my anger management classes and therapy things. I’ve been asking you for a week, Sam. You know I can’t schedule them myself because I can’t go online.”

“Fine.”

“Novak’s going to consider it a violation of my contract if you don’t.”

Sam huffed. “Right, like you’re actually going to have any contract left now. Is my nose still bleeding?”

“No, but it should be. You know what? I’m going to confess something, and you’re not going to like it, but you’re gonna fucking listen anyway. You hearing me?”

Sam nodded after another side-eye glance at his irate older brother.

Dean braced himself and pulled his jacket tighter around him as if it was some kind of safety net. They were a block from home; he’d have to talk fast.

“So I’m just gonna say it. The last couple of months made me realize you’re a true-blue useless asshole. I fucking hate you right now. I wish I’d been put in jail instead of being forced to be your roomie, because guess what? Now I’m seeing all your true colors come to light. And I don’t like them. Either I was blind to them before, or what, I don’t know, but I’m so done with you right now.”

“Done?”

“Don’t talk to me unless it’s an emergency. Don’t say anything to me unless it’s going to be in support of me, or of the fact that I’m trying to turn my life around, or that I’m a better brother to you than you ever were to me. When did you decide to stop acting like a human being? You’re not dad, you never will be, and I’m absolutely not putting up with this bullshit any longer. It’s time for me to grow some fucking balls and start defending myself. So yeah, I’m done.”

Dean bolted out of the car and stomped into the house. He was so upset that he didn’t even notice he had left Charlie behind in the car with Sam.

 


	47. Chapter 47

Dean was secretly glad Sam ditched him after they got home and drove off. He was thoroughly pissed, and busily taking out his anger out on the rehab program installed on his laptop:

_Today’s Status: Fucking hating everything but at least there’s an upside: it has absolutely zero to do with alcohol!_

He heard the phone ringing in his bedroom, but ignored it completely.

_How Sam isn’t an alcoholic, too, is beyond my comprehension. Dad was harder on him than me when we were younger. Until nine years ago, I was the golden boy. Then one night-_

The phone in the bedroom rang again. Dean got up, stalked to the nightstand, and pulled the plug straight out of the wall before returning to the dining room table.

_Dad tried to take his violin back and told me I was a shit performer anyway and would never_

He stopped there and took a deep breath, then used the cursor to highlight the entire entry and moodily deleted it.

_Today’s Status: 12 days sober. Feels good. Nothing else to report._

\---

Dean was brushing his teeth and getting ready for bed when Sam finally returned. He barged into the bedroom without knocking, and Dean nearly swallowed his toothbrush from being startled so badly.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

Sam handed him an envelope. “Here you go. eBay sales slip and a printout of your bank balance. You’re welcome.”

Dean took the slip, his hair standing on end. “What the fuck is this?”

“Your auction. Don’t you remember? I took care of everything for you. Being a good brother, just like you asked. Packed the violin up and took it to its new owner, and went to the ATM to make sure the money was there.”

Dean went back into the bathroom to spit out the toothpaste and rinse his mouth.

Sam stood in the doorway and feigned an innocent expression. “You’re welcome.”

“You….you _sold_ Charlie. And gave her away. _After_ I told you to cancel the auction.”

“No, _you_ sold Charlie. I don’t remember you asking me to cancel the listing you set up. Probably should have made sure I heard you if it was that important.”

“Sam!”

They both spun around at the sound of pounding on the front door, accompanied by the doorbell.

“What the hell?” Sam asked in wonder as he walked out and peered through the doorbell. “Um, Dean. Why are there police at my door?”

Dean’s face was nearly purple from rage. “Haven’t you seen _Minority Report_? They must have learned I’m about to fucking kill you so they came here to stop me first.”

Sam rolled his eyes and pulled open the door. Two large, burly officers asked for Dean, who immediately came to the door.

“Yes, officers?”

“Dean Winchester?”

“Yes.”

The taller man grunted a little. “We’ve been trying to call you for a couple hours, son. You been here the whole time?”

“Yes, sir.”

Sam stepped forward. “What did he do?”

“Ignoring calls from a parole officer is a crime. He’s in a shitload of trouble now.”

Sam looked aghast while Dean turned white. Bela Talbot’s car pulled up in the driveway suddenly, and the officers backed away from the door to go meet her.

“Why the fuck weren’t you answering?” Sam hissed out of the side of his mouth.

“Unplugged it. Fucking telemarketers!”

“Shit. Stay quiet, I’ll handle this.”

“Sam-”

“ _Quiet._ ”

Officer Talbot arrived at the front door now and took a deep breath, looking about to strangle Dean. “You were told you had to answer that phone when you were home, period. No matter what you were doing, literally no exceptions.”

Sam stepped in front of Dean, holding up his hands placatingly.

“I knew of no such stipulation and unplugged the phone temporarily so he could rest.”

“What a tear-jerker. Well, Sam, now he gets to rest in jail for ten days.”

“Fine. But not without talking to his lawyer first.” Sam dug his phone out and called. “Castiel, it’s Sam. I’m looking for Michael. Is he with you?”

Dean could have sworn he saw Officer Talbot do a double take when Sam said _Castiel._

“Yes, Mr. Novak. Dean’s parole officer is here, and it’s urgent. Thank you.” Sam smiled charmingly at Talbot. “Sorry for the wait. Our boss picked up instead of Michael, but he’s going to get him right away.”

Talbot was red now. “Castiel Novak is Dean’s _boss_?”

“Yes ma’am. Mine, too. We’re his new trio for his upcoming tour. Castiel’s brother Michael is Dean’s lawyer.”

“I see. I think we can work this out without getting Michael involved.”

“Oh. How so?”

“I’ll be right back.” She took out her phone and walked away while Sam ignored Dean’s rising panic. Before Michael came to the phone, Bela returned.

“You can hang up. We’re letting it go this time. Officers, you may leave.”

“That’s very kind, ma’am. Thank you.”

She looked at Sam decisively. “Within twenty-four hours I want you to personally bring me a signed copy of his house arrest agreement. Initial every section. That way, pleading ignorance again is not an option. Neither is blatant name-dropping.”

Sam smirked. “Yes ma’am.”

She raised an eyebrow and left quickly.

“What the fuckwas _that_?” Dean breathed shakily.

Sam grunted. “Fortunately for you, I just learned Cas has donated a shitload of money to police department fundraisers for years, and hosts all their galas at the center for free. You’re welcome. And by the way, don’t even think of giving me shit about Charlie. That fucking violin was the embodiment of dad’s hold over you.”

 _Oh yes. Charlie._ Dean instantly fumed again. “Wait. Did Gabriel put you up to this?”

“Yes. He won the auction. Said you can have her back after the tour. Not before then.”

“Oh my fucking god! Sam, did you even call Castiel just now?”

“Nope. Faked it. You’re welcome for that, too. Go to bed. And plug your fucking phone back in.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don’t be too mad at Gabriel. There’s a good reason he did it, will be explained later.


	48. Chapter 48

“Sam! First of all, don’t ever tell me to go to bed again. I’m not five. Secondly...do you mean that you saw Gabriel? Did he tell you what Castiel said about us?”

“Not exactly. That was after Cas called me to come in for a meeting with the three of them. You don’t really want to know what was said.”

”Yeah, I do!”

Sam shook his head. “No, you don’t. Anyway, I’m suspended for two weeks without pay. You’re good though.”

Dean looked at him sideways. “What do you mean _I’m good_?”

“I literally mean you’re good. Not in any trouble. You have to go back to rehearsal tomorrow, actually.”

“And play what? Air violin? I can’t fucking believe you and Gabriel. This is the absolute shittiest thing you’ve ever done, and trust me, you had a pretty high bar to surpass before this. Charlie was _dad’s_ , you colossal douchebag!”

Sam shrugged. “Yeah. That’s the point, dumbass. Gabriel said he’ll help you get a different one tomorrow.”

“I can’t afford it!” Dean spat out. “Did you even think about that, rich boy?”

Sam’s tone was unusually placid and gentle. “You’re Castiel Novak’s new protegé. People will be begging you to choose one of theirs, if not paying you outright for the publicity. You’ll probably be playing a Stradivarius within a few years. So calm the fuck down.”

That threw Dean completely off to the point where he forgot to be mad for a moment.

“Wait...are you serious?”

“Yes. Hey, it’s been a long day. I gotta take a shower.”

“What are you doing for the next two weeks?”

Sam hesitated. “Don’t know yet. I’ll figure something out. And Dean? I deserved it. I’m sorry I slapped your ass.”

“Right. And I’m the Queen of England.”

“Then goodnight, your majesty.”

Sam executed an elegant mock bow, leaving Dean staring after him quizzically as he walked away.

——

The next morning Dean was greeted by a wake-up call from his irritable parole officer, who told him she’d been unable to ping his ankle monitor all night.

“Well, I’ve been here sleeping like a log, so I don’t know what to tell you.”

“That’s fine. No one’s saying you weren’t. But you do have to stay there until we can come check it out.”

Dean looked at his clock and moaned. “Really? I have rehearsal in an hour. How long is this going to take?”

“I’m not AAA. We’ll get there when we get there, a few hours at least.”

“Shit, really? I mean...understood. Wait. While you’re on the phone, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Yesterday was a bit weird for me and I’m still trying to figure out what happened. How did you _not_ know that Castiel is my boss? When he called you up to request an ankle monitor for me that vibrated instead of beeping...didn’t he tell you then that I worked for him?”

Bela laughed a little. “No. I mean, it all makes sense looking back now, but at the time I had no idea what your connection was and didn’t ask. I didn’t even know he was Sam’s boss. Novak’s an extremely private person, as I’m sure you’ve realized.”

Dean swallowed hard. “I see. It makes sense now for me, too. You mentioned…you said that he cared about me a lot. I was just wondering why you said that. I’m only asking because I-”

“No need to tell me why.”

“I want to. This job was so hard for me to take, for so many reasons. Now I’m in trouble with him and...you know what, never mind. I’m sorry to waste your time.”

“You’re not wasting my time. He told me the beeps were stressing you out unnecessarily, and he was worried about your well-being. Actually, he said ‘deeply concerned’ if I’m remembering correctly. Then he asked me if there was an alternative. You know the rest.”

Dean nodded to himself. “So you did it only because he’s a big donor to the police department? What if he wasn’t, guessing you guys wouldn’t have given a shit about me then?”

There was a brief but telling silence from Bela. “You really should keep your assumptions to yourself in order to avoid embarrassing him. And me.”

“Sorry,” Dean said quickly, his heart jolting a little. “Didn’t mean any offense. It’s just hard for me to get used to all this. I feel like...never mind.”

“Feel like what?”

 _Like a fucking puppet_.

“Nothing. I need to call him about being late. Can you give me any time frame at all?”

“Three to eight hours. Look, Dean. Just between you and me? I’ve known Castiel for years, although we hadn’t talked in a long time. I think I know without asking why the job was hard for you to take. But he chose you because he thinks you’ll be a star, and if you’re going to keep acting like he thinks you’re some kind of charity case instead, you’re going to be the first person he’s been wrong about. I mean this in the best way possible: get your shit together, immediately. You’ll never get another chance like this again.”

Lump, meet throat. His heart was aching so badly these days from not having anyone to talk to. “I just...I’m not good enough. Not even close. He should’ve never offered me this job.”

“Well then, get ‘good enough’. You have like a thousand hours to practice before the tour, don’t you?”

“Um. Yeah, actually, come to think of it. You’re right. Look, I’m sorry to ask. But is there any chance you guys could come over here first so I’m not late for rehearsal?”

Another brief silence. “Alright. You might still be late because I’m not anywhere near you, but I’ll come now as fast as I can.”

“Thank you so much. It’s nice to finally have someone to talk to.”

“Besides Sam, you mean?”

“Right,” Dean gulped. “Besides Sam, of course.”

 


	49. Chapter 49

“Mr. Novak? It’s Dean. Do you have a moment?”

“Yes. Just getting the music together for rehearsal. Did Sam tell you he’s not coming?”

“Yes, sir. I have a problem. Well, two problems. Number one is that I don’t have a violin anymore. Secondly, Officer Talbot told me I have to wait here at home until she can come check my ankle monitor. It’s not syncing, or something. It looks like it will be a couple hours.”

“What happened to your instrument? Is it broken?”

_Good god, how to explain this one…_

“No, it...wait, Sam said that Gabriel is going to help me find a new one today. Are you not aware of what they did, sir?”

“What _who_ did?”

 _Holy fuck_ , Dean thought. _He doesn’t know his own fucking brother bought my damned violin._

“Um. I don’t really know how to explain.”

“Fine. Gabriel has some violins here you can play. Why don’t you go see him today instead, and I’ll cancel the rehearsal. I’m not feeling up for playing, anyway.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Are you sick?”

“No. Just a little discouraged by what happened with Sam, as you can probably understand.”

Dean felt his skin prickle a little bit as he debated whether to end this call quickly, or seize the chance to have an actual conversation with Novak for once.

He nervously chose the latter.

“Sam didn’t tell me much, sir, except that he was suspended.”

“Correct. You’re not in trouble.”

“Thank you. But maybe I should be. I’m so very sorry for what happened yesterday. You’ll be happy to know I spent three hours working on my anger management course last night. It seems to be helping a little already, since I didn’t lose my temper about my little technical difficulty.”

Castiel paused again, and then replied guardedly, “That’s very good.”

Dean’s heart fell a little at his tone _._

_I said too much. I always say too much. Need to learn when to shut up._

_He’s just pretending to listen because he feels sorry for you._

_Nobody cares what you have to say, Dean. Shut up._

“Sorry, sir. I don’t mean to waste your time. I’ll call Gabriel as soon as I’m on the way.”

“Wait a minute. Since I won’t see you today, I’m going to take the opportunity to say a few things that I need to get off my chest before we have our next rehearsal. To help clear the air, and help decrease any awkwardness you may currently feel.”

 _Shit_. Dean’s throat closed up a little. “Of course, sir. Whatever you say I deserve completely and won’t argue.”

“I’m surprised Sam didn’t tell you what happened, but I will. The short version, anyway. I called him in yesterday after your fight to let him know we had decided to release you from your contract without penalty.”

 _Holy fuck._ Dean couldn’t breathe suddenly.

“However,” Castiel added quickly, “Sam talked me out of it by taking complete responsibility for the incident, and a few other things. It didn’t make me feel better at first; in fact I then decided to release both of you on the spot.”

“I don’t blame you, sir,” Dean croaked.

“Let me talk.”

“I’m sorry.”

Castiel did his usual annoyed little grunt before continuing. “To make a long story short, Sam is obviously an excellent lawyer. His ability to make persuasive arguments is unmatched by anyone I’ve ever known.”

“Thank god for that, sir,” Dean breathed shakily. “I’m glad you changed your mind about us.”

“I didn’t. I changed my mind about _you_. He didn’t even try to get me to reconsider him. I’m still furious. Whether or not I’ll allow him back in two weeks depends on a lot of factors that I don’t feel obligated to explain. So I need to ask you an important question, and you need to give me a solid yes or no before we rehearse again on Monday. Will you, or will you not, be willing to continue in this job without your brother as my cellist?”

“I will, sir,” Dean answered immediately.

“Don’t be so fast to-”

“I will,” Dean repeated quickly. “Sorry for interrupting, but you don’t need to ask again.”

“Alright,” Castiel replied. And was that actually _relief_ in his voice? “Whether or not you want to thank your brother for his intervention is none of my business, but I hope you do. Like I said, I have seven brothers. It’s been a contentious relationship with all of them, to say the least, and out of everyone I’m least likely to admit that I’m wrong. I have a feeling Sam is the same way.”

Dean smiled a little despite his bleak mood. “Yes he is, sir. That’s why I was so surprised when he actually apologized to me for what he did yesterday. I'm ashamed to admit I mocked him rather than accepting the apology.”

“Again, none of my business whether or not you two want to talk and smooth that out. I have to go now. See you on Monday.“

“See you then, sir.”

Dean sat for a long time thinking hard about this conversation. He was half flabbergasted and half hopeful. It must have been a full hour of being lost in deep thought before he noticed his bedroom door knob turning slowly, like in a horror movie.

“Come in. I’m awake.”

Now the door opened all the way, and Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“Hey Sam. I was just about to take a shower. You okay?”

“Dunno. There’s a police car in my driveway again. My neighbors are going to start talking.”

Dean stood up. “Sorry, my ankle monitor is malfunctioning. Guess they’re making sure I don’t leave before Officer Talbot arrives to fix it.”

“Oh.” Sam looked relieved.

“I’ll take a taxi to rehearsal after that and be out of your hair all day.”

“I’ll take you. Save you a few bucks.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

He meant it.

“Awesome,” Dean replied gratefully. “Thanks, Sammy.”


	50. Chapter 50

Dean still wasn’t quite sure what to make of Gabriel’s widely inconsistent attitude towards him. The man changed from day to day; a bonafide Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Most days he was barely tolerable, even downright hostile. Then a day like this would come along, where he was gracious and almost ingratiating in his manner.

In short, Dean never knew what to expect of Gabriel, and the constant walking on eggshells was making him wary. It wasn’t helping that the car ride with Sam was far more tense than he expected it to be; his brother was clearly trying his best to be nice to him, but didn’t quite know how to manage it yet.

Dean had stayed calm and quiet until Sam brought up Charlie and offhandedly said that Gabriel massively overpaid for her. Dean blew up, and Sam nearly threw him out of the car at a red light before thinking better of it and abruptly changing the subject.

So Dean had been waiting (fuming) in front of Gabriel’s office for what seemed like an eternity before the temperamental artistic director finally condescended to appear.

“Hello Dean, come on in and have a seat,” he said pleasantly. “No doubt you have some questions for me before we get started.”

Step 2 of the “12-Step Program for Anger Management” program had taught Dean that he needed to plan for how to handle anger when he knew it was coming. This was one of those times, so he steeled himself and steadily put forward the question he had been practicing in his head all morning.

“Yes, sir. I told Sam to cancel my violin’s auction. It really upset me to know that he didn’t, and that you bought Charlie for your collection. Please help me understand why this happened.”

The words sounded stilted and awkward to his own ears, and he blushed a little in embarrassment. Even Gabriel looked a little bemused.

“Sam never told me you wanted the auction canceled.”

_Of course he fucking didn’t. Sam!_

“But you knew, sir, that I had no intention of playing any other instrument.” Dean felt the edges of his temper start to flare. “Was it because you knew I was going to be fired?”

“Is that what you really think?”

“I don’t know what to fucking think!”

Gabriel blinked. “Close your eyes.”

“Oh come on,” Dean moaned.

“Do it.” Gabriel stood up. “Thirty seconds. I’ll be right back.”

Dean closed his eyes and breathed deeply, hating that he secretly _wanted_ to do this exercise, that he wanted to calm down. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why, considering how much he’d hated it at first, when Gabriel first made him do it.

Back then it had just made him angry, like the man was trying to... _domesticate_ him, maybe. Yes, that was the right word. How he’d resented it at the time. Now, though? He appreciated it.

Strange how fast things could change.

The door opened from behind him, and Dean turned around to look. It was Castiel.

“Don’t get up, Dean. I’m just bringing you your paycheck. We didn’t have enough time to set up the direct deposit yet, so you’ll have to stop by the bank.”

 _Sam will, anyway. I’m grounded._ Dean took the envelope gratefully.

“Thank you, sir. I've only worked three days, though?”

Gabriel came back into the room.

“Hey Cas.”

“Are they here?”

“Arrived an hour ago. It’s nice to have connections, huh? Meaning you, of course.”

“How many?”

Dean felt too awkward sitting with them both standing, so he slowly rose to his feet as they continued to talk back and forth. Eventually Gabriel looked back at Dean.

“We should get started. Come with me, Dean.”

“Where is your violin, Dean?” Castiel asked abruptly. “You never explained what happened.”

Dean looked to Gabriel with raised eyebrows. He wondered why Castiel still didn’t know. That was really strange.

“I sold her, sir.”

“You could have just told me that.”

“Sorry.”

Castiel sighed and left without another word.

“Are you calm now?” Gabriel asked heavily.

“I will be once you answer my question on why you bought Charlie. And why you haven’t told your brother.”

“Do you have any theories on that?”

 _Why are you finding this so fucking funny?_ Dean fumed to himself as he took in Gabriel’s smirk.

“Because you’re a dick?”

_Shit. Did I really fucking just. Yes. Yes, I did._

At least that smirk was gone, Dean realized in satisfaction. _Good_.

“Dean,” Gabriel said after a moment, “I realize you’ve had a rough week. Month, actually. But that’s the last time you’ll disrespect me without consequences.”

Dean’s heart seized up a little at that; Gabriel’s expression was dangerously resolute. There was no question he meant every syllable. Dean felt his still-aching ass flinch a little at the thought of what those consequences would probably be.

But still. He deserved an answer.

“Understood. I think you bought Charlie to force me into playing a different violin, which is what you wanted all along.”

“Not quite. It was to get you to _try_ a different violin, which I knew you wouldn’t unless Charlie was taken out of the equation. It’s none of your damned business why I haven’t told Cas yet. So let’s go check them out and have you play them.”

“Wait.”

“Yes?” Gabriel stopped, puzzled.

“While we're on the subject of respect, I wanted to point out that you’ve been disrespectful and even hostile to me since we first met. I’m Castiel’s employee now, too, same as you, and I can go to him with any grievances against you as easily as you can about me. And I absolutely will. I might even mention how you obtained Charlie.”

Dean hated that his voice and hands were trembling, and he braced himself for a fight.

But Gabriel only nodded.  _Nodded_!

“Duly noted. Would you like to try out these new violins, Dean?”

“Yes, sir.”

Gabriel turned to go, and this time Dean followed.


	51. Chapter 51

Dean was oddly calm as they entered Gabriel’s personal rehearsal room. Six violins in cases were lined up along the counter, perfectly spaced apart, each numbered.

“Do you want to stand or sit while you try these out?”

“Sit, I think.”

“You think?”

Dean cleared his throat. “I want to sit. May I take that chair over there, please?”

Gabriel brought it over and planted it down so that Dean’s back was to the violins. He sat.

“I have six violins for you to try. All are heirloom quality, worth far more money than you or I could ever afford.”

“Then how-”

“Loaners. Close your eyes.”

Dean glared at him. “What did I do?”

“Nothing. I’m going to blindfold you.”

“Ooooh. Kinky.”

Gabriel laughed. “No. You’re a music teacher, you should know this exercise.”

“I’m not a music teacher,” Dean corrected politely. “I teach... _taught_ fifth graders in basically everything except music.”

“Oh.” The blindfold swiftly fell over Dean’s eyes from behind; he grabbed at it automatically and pulled it away.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re going to play all of these violins, but I don’t want their looks to influence you. The teens I teach are influenced by their pretty colors, not the tone and-”

“I’m not a teenager.”

Gabriel laughed again, and Dean grudgingly let him tie the blindfold on, gritting his teeth the whole time.

“No, you’re worse than that. You’ll choose the one you know is the cheapest, because you don’t feel worthy of the most expensive ones. So we’re going to nip that in the bud right now. Once you have chosen a violin, I’ll give Charlie back with the caveat that you can’t play her on the tour.”

“ _Give_ me back? You bought her!”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Do you need a shoulder rest?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Give me a minute.”

Dean’s stomach churned unpleasantly as Gabriel unsnapped all the cases and took for-fucking-ever to hand him the first violin.

“Now, Dean, it’s up to you whether you play the same piece on all six of them, or whether you just want to wing it.”

“I’ll wing it.” Dean tucked the first violin under his chin. Having never playing blindfolded before, it took him a few long moments to adjust and get oriented.

“I feel ridiculous,” he complained, but he started in on his Bach partita anyway without waiting for a response.

Gabe chuckled a little afterwards. “That was a rough start. I know the blindfold takes some getting used to. Try again.”

Dean did, and he had to admit he liked the violin more than he expected.

Gabriel handed him the second one.

“Is this the Stradivarius?” Dean joked.

“‘No Strads here, unfortunately. If we had one, I’d be playing it myself. Don’t overthink it, just play.”

Dean played, and he stopped after ten bars.

“Horrible. Doesn’t suit me at all.”

Gabriel took the violin out of his hands and gently set it back in the case.

“Here’s number three.”

Another keeper. Closely tied with number one.

“Number four. This one has a new E string so don’t let that throw you off.”

Another keeper. This was going to be hard.

“Number five.”

Yet another keeper. Shit.

“Number six.”

Dean played only half the partita before setting it across his lap. “This one is worse than the second one.”

“Really? That surprises me. I thought for sure you’d like that one best.”

“No. Totally dead sound. I think I’d like to try the other four again. They’re pretty close, but I’m leaning towards the first one.”

“Alright. Why don’t I give them to you in random order this time so you’re not biased.”

Dean sighed. “None of them sound as good as Charlie. This is so fucking unfair. And you can’t tell me to close my eyes, because I’m already blinded.”

“Stop cussing, please. Best to get out of the habit since you’re going to be spending a lot of time with Cas. Do you want to give number six a second chance before I put it away?”

“No. It sounds worse than my junior high school violin.”

“Hmmm. I’m going to take your blindfold off. Let’s take a break before the second round.”

He came up behind Dean and untied the black cloth deftly. Dean squinted and then peered at the sixth violin in shock and disdain.

It was Charlie.

_Fuck!_

——

Violin number three won the contest. Gabriel refused to let Dean see it until the actual insurance policy was signed and the loaner paperwork completed.

Dean gasped when he flipped to the last page of the paperwork and saw the most recent assessment of the violin’s value, as well as its maker and the year it was crafted.

“Um. This can’t be right,” he choked out.

Gabriel peered over and looked. “You’re right. That estimate is a little low, I think.”

Dean set down the pen and felt sick from the way his heart began pounding.

“Dean,” Gabriel warned. “Don’t do this. Calm down.”

_You don’t deserve to play on a $900,000 violin._

_You’re wearing a fucking ankle monitor for being a useless drunk._

_A month ago you got fired from teaching 5th graders._

_Your own dad thinks you’re worthless._

_Your brother, too._

_Buzzzzz_

Dean stood up, and the world swirled around him a little. “I can’t. Give me Charlie back, please. I’ll buy her back. Just tell me how much.”

Gabriel scoffed a little. “I knew you were going to react like this. Saw it coming a mile away.”

“I need cold water. Please.”

Gabriel quickly left the room, and came back a few moments later with a bottle of water and Castiel in tow behind him.

“He’s panicking because he chose the Guadagnini,” Gabe explained to his brother.

“Nice choice. Beautiful instrument,” Castiel remarked calmly as he watched Dean frantically gulp the water down.

“I can’t,” Dean said simply. “I won’t.”

Castiel glanced at his brother worriedly. “Let me talk to him alone, please.”

 


	52. Chapter 52

“Dean, I’m getting weary of trying to boost your confidence and failing miserably. We should reconvene after you’ve been through a few therapy sessions.”

 _Wow...so much for the pep talk,_ Dean thought.

“Sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Then find out, and fix it. You can’t keep doing this to yourself. I’m legitimately worried I’m going to get a call from Sam someday that you’ve thrown yourself off a bridge or laid down on the train tracks. You have to get help immediately.”

Dean’s eyes watered. “I just want to play Charlie. I’ll be fine if Gabriel gives her back.”

Castiel froze. “What do you mean, _gives her back_?”

“Sam sold her to him without my consent. Now Gabriel’s basically holding her hostage until I agree to play a different violin for the tour.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that?” Castiel fumed.

“I’m sorry, but...you asked me what my problem is, so I’m telling you. I actually have multiple problems: Gabriel, Sam, my dad, and you.”

“Me?” Castiel asked in disbelief.

“Yeah. You just let your brothers be assholes to everyone! I’ve been walking on eggshells since...you know what, forget it.” Dean headed towards the door. “I’m done. I quit.”

Castiel followed him into the hallway.

“My office, Dean.”

“No.”

“Wait there while I retrieve Charlie. Then you can go.” He pulled open the door as they passed it, his expression brooking no defiance. Dean went in. He was numb from head to toe, and felt nothing while he waited alone. Not even anger. No relief, either. Just...nothing. That was almost relief in itself.

Castiel quickly returned as good as his word, toting Charlie. Dean took her gratefully.

“You can keep the money Gabriel paid for her,” Castiel remarked gloomily. “I’m sorry this happened.”

“I’m sorry too, sir. I suppose you knew all along I’d never make it to the tour.”

“I did fear it, yes. But not so soon. I have a proposition for you, however.”

“I’m not reconsidering.”

“Didn’t ask you to. But you need employment or you’re going back to jail. I want to hire you as a violin teacher for the students Gabriel is about to lose after I fire him.”

Dean’s hair stood on end. “Uhhh…I’m sorry, what?”

“You heard correctly. You can still work for me, giving private lessons here at the arts center on a part-time basis. Mostly to young at-risk students. But there’s a caveat.”

“Okay...”

“In exactly one month you will be required to re-audition for the trio. I’m putting it on hold for now until I find a new artistic director.”

Dean swallowed down the bile in the back of his throat.

“But...sir, I don’t...you can’t fire Gabriel. Please.”

“It’s not up for discussion, not even from you. I know his true character, Dean. This isn’t a shock to me. He’s my brother. I was hopeful he had changed his ways, but obviously not.”

“But Sam was supposed to-”

“This isn’t about Sam. Gabriel told me you had agreed on your own accord to try some different violins. I obtained them on that false premise, knowing nothing about him holding Charlie hostage, and therefore I’m also party to this horrid manipulation. It's about damned time somebody stood up for you, and if it’s not your own family then it’s going to be me, even if I have to lose you in the process. So go home and take care of your mental health. Do you need a ride?”

“Uh-”

“I’m giving you a ride. Come on.”

Dean picked up Charlie and followed, his head swimming and his stomach turning over and over in sickly flip-flops. There was no use protesting; Castiel was dead-set on this course of events. But that didn’t stop Dean from trying to talk him out of it once they got in Novak’s Range Rover and drove away.

“Mr. Novak, I’m kind of freaking out right now. Gabriel hasn’t been all bad. He has some good points.”

“Navigate, please. No idea where I’m going.”

“Sorry. Please take a right at the second light. I mean, he was actually really great when helping prepare me for the audition. When he’s in a good mood, he’s actually really cool.”

“Dean, you can give me a hundred reasons not to fire him. But I only need one reason to do it, and I have it. Where do I go next?”

“Straight for about a mile. I’ll tell you where to turn, it’s a little tricky. Is there any way I can talk you out of this, sir? Please.”

“Why would you even want to? Guilt?”

Dean felt that jab straight to his heart, but his attention was diverted by Castiel suddenly leaning on his horn to prevent a collision.

“Dean,” Castiel continued calmly, “the truth is that Gabriel wanted to be my trio violinist. He’s jealous. I had a feeling he’d mistreat you because of that, but I haven’t been paying close enough attention to pick up on it. That’s my fault. So if anyone should feel guilty, it’s me.”

Dean quickly wiped his eyes and hoped Novak hadn’t noticed.

“Alright. Well, that makes sense now. So what’s Michael’s problem, then?” he asked in a light, half-joking tone.

Castiel sighed. “Michael’s just a greedy jerk. Always has been. But at least he’s not a liar. I’ve never had cause to regret him working for me. But I’ve fired Gabriel twice before in the years past. Does that make you feel better?”

“Not really,” Dean admitted. “I mean...I feel like you’re doing it just because of me.”

”Is that so wrong? You deserve better. So do I.”

Dean swallowed hard and wiped his eyes again.

“Please don’t.”

“I’ve already made my decision. When you make yours, let me know. Where do I turn next?”

Dean pointed. “Left, please. The house with the police car in the driveway. I appreciate the ride.”

“You’re welcome. Keep in touch.”

_Buzz_

“I will. Thank you.”


	53. Chapter 53

Dean felt wiped out between getting out of Castiel’s car and letting himself into the house. Numbness overtook his brain again when he saw his parole officer at the dining room table with Sam.

“Please tell me you’re here to take me to jail,” he blurted.

“No,” Officer Talbot answered worriedly. “We’ve been working on your therapy schedule. Come take a look.”

“In a minute.”

Dean passed by them and went into his room. He heard Sam excuse himself and follow him, so he set Charlie down on the bed and returned his brother’s quizzical look with a defiant glare: _Say something about me getting her back. I fucking dare you._

Sam closed the door behind him and waited as Dean disappeared into his closet to change clothes.

“Hey. Why are you back so soon? Did something happen?”

_Silence_

“Dean, you can’t joke to your parole officer about wanting to go to jail.”

_Silence_

“Hey. What’s wrong?”

_Silence_

Sam crossed his arms. “Oh, that’s mature. The silent treatment. What are you, twelve? Come on.”

Dean finished his task and faced his brother with a serene expression. “Move, please.”

“Can’t I just-”

“I said move, Sam! Trust me, I’m in no fucking mood to repeat myself.”

Sam stepped aside with his mouth hanging open, and Dean yanked open the door and went to sit down heavily at the dining room table.

“What’s this about?” he demanded irritably.

Officer Talbot raised an eyebrow and handed Dean a sheet of paper while Sam went into the kitchen and began pouring Dean a drink.

“I was in the area and stopped by to pick up Sam’s paperwork, and then we got to talking. You’ve got three programs to complete, as you know. One is the self-directed anger management one. How’s that going?”

“Good. About ten percent done.” He paused as Sam handed him a glass of lemonade. “I should be starting step three tonight.”

“Excellent. So you’re on schedule. The second is one-on-one therapy, which is three calls a week for an hour each. Sam has scheduled the first three weeks. It’s at the bottom of page one.

Dean looked at the detailed, orderly schedule. “Thanks. Looks good.”

Officer Talbot took out another packet of papers. “The last one is the alcohol rehab program. This one is a little tricky. It’s every day except Sunday for half an hour hour, but Sam has to go with you twice a week.”

Dean looked up. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

Sam shrugged. “Not my rule, sorry.”

“I don’t understand. That’s stupid.”

Officer Talbot closed the lid to her laptop. “The program that was randomly selected for you requires that a family member be included in your rehabilitation. Most of them don’t. It was poor luck, I’m afraid. The upside is that it’s only for thirty days.”

Sam cleared his throat. “We also have to make time for the family counseling that Cas required in our contracts. That’s another two hours per week.”

Dean swallowed down his continued resentment at Castiel’s ready interference into the Winchester family’s drama.

“Fun. So basically my second job is getting thraped on a daily basis. Are we done here?”

Bela Talbot looked between Sam and Dean curiously, but refrained from making any remarks on the tension. “Any questions or concerns before I go, Dean?”

“No, no, everything’s peachy keen and I’ve had the most amazing day ever.”

“Glad to hear it.” She stood up. “Walk with me to my car, please.”

“The driveway is ten feet from the front door,” Dean answered snottily.

Sam huffed irritably, “Just do it, Dean! Jesus.”

Officer Talbot smiled a little. “Let me rephrase. I’d like to speak with you outside for a moment, Dean. Privately. Please.”

Dean rose to his feet. “Fine.”

He opened the front door for her, and then she opened her passenger car door for him. “Get in.”

“What?”

“Get in. Just going to chat. Don’t worry, you’ll be back to passively aggressively baiting your brother in five minutes.”

He got in reluctantly. The car was hot, so Talbot turned it on ran the air at full blast for thirty seconds before speaking.

“Dean, I’m curious why you feel compelled to keep sabotaging yourself over and over. Please satisfy my curiosity.”

“Hmmm...I don’t think cop car therapy sessions are on my agenda. Sorry.”

“Literally everything is on your side but you. Don’t you even see that?”

Dean laughed. “In what alternate universe? You have no idea what I’m working against.”

“Maybe it’s time to think of how much you have working _for_ you. You’re young, intelligent, talented, handsome, and have a multi-million dollar benefactor. Do you know how much some people would give for even one of those assets? Not to mention all five. So I find your behavior incredibly infuriating, to say the-”

“Nobody asked your opinion,” Dean replied hotly. “Just keep buzzing me twenty times a day to get your rocks off, and leave me alone otherwise. Can I go now?”

She turned down the air conditioning and sucked in a deep, steadying breath.

“You should know that I’ve spent the last three hours talking with Sam. _Thraping_ , as you called it. This was supposed to be a five minute meeting. I won’t go into details, but Dean, I’ve had this job ten years. I’m an expert at detecting insincerity. There’s none here. Sam is truly determined to make things right. Give him a chance to do it. You’ve suffered enough.”

“Thanks, Dr. Phil. I’ll send you a check for your services.”

Dean got out impatiently and strode back in the house. Sam was pacing around the kitchen, looking painfully flush.

“You okay, Dean?”

“No. I deserve a better fucking brother than you.”

Sam’s shocked expression lasted only a fraction of a second before he composed himself. “I don’t disagree. Not even a little. Can we talk?”

Sam’s eyes were suddenly very wet.

“Tomorrow,” Dean replied firmly. “I’m tired.”

He disappeared into his room and locked the door behind him.

 


	54. Chapter 54

Dean realized fairly quickly after locking himself into his room that he was fucking starving. It was only 4 o’clock. He couldn’t go until the next morning without eating, there was just no way. There was also no way he could lose face and go into the kitchen and risk bumping into Sam.

No, that was worse. He was going to suffer, and be happy for it. So he laid down in his bed with Charlie beside him and rested an arm across the top of her case, feeling like a traitor.

The third violin he’d tried, the Guadagnini. Now _that_ was a violin. The purity. The clarity. The smoothness. Charlie had sounded like a toy in comparison. Scratch that, she _was_ a toy in comparison. Dean realized he would probably never play anything like it again, and that made his heart hurt. Even if...no, the violins were probably back on their way to their owners already. He had never finished signing the paperwork. Chickened out, like he always did. What else was new.

His mind drifted unwittingly back to Gabriel. Castiel had said...what was it he said, again? When Dean had been upset because he thought Castiel was only firing because of what he did to Dean? He couldn’t remember. Oh...yes, there it was: _You deserve better. So do I._

And then the other thing: _It's about damned time somebody stood up for you, and if it’s not your own family then it’s going to be me._

It took Dean another hour of moping before he finally made the connection and sat up with a start.

_You deserve better. So do I._

Castiel was really saying they _both_ deserved better brothers. 

Dean’s thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell ringing, and he jumped up to press an ear to the door in order to hear who had arrived. He couldn’t make anything out, but his biggest fear was that dad had shown up for a visit. Just when he was about to back away, another knock on his own door, directly over his ear, made him jump away in surprise.

“Who is it?” he asked after he’d regathered his wits.

“The boogeyman. I’m leaving food in front of the door for you. Don’t worry, I’m walking away now. Bon apetit.”

Dean waited 30 seconds, his stomach grumbling madly the whole time, and then opened the door cautiously. It would be just like Sam to be standing there all smugly, congratulating himself for tricking his gullible brother yet again.

Sam wasn’t there. Dean reached out and picked up the bag of food, feeling a bit like a raccoon raiding a trash can, then closed the door and locked it again. He tore open the bag hungrily and was astonished to find not cheap Chinese food or pizza, but an actual steak, complete with sides of broccolini and mashed potatoes. There was a slice of cheesecake for dessert, and two bottles of coke.

_You deserve to be eating cheap prison food. Useless drunk._

Dean took the bag out to the living room and set it on the dining room table, untouched. Then he went to Sam’s room and knocked on the door.

“Hey, Dean. Something wrong?”

“Yeah. You trying to buy my forgiveness with this fancy meal, or is the last supper, or what?”

Sam swallowed hard. “Probably the first, to be honest.”

Dean didn’t expect that answer, he fully expected denial and the start of another argument.

“Well, you failed. I hate cheesecake.”

“Oh, shit. Hang on.”

Sam turned around and rummaged through the identical bag on his dresser. “Yeah, this is the one with the pie. Sorry. Trade you.”

He handed it to Dean, who regarded his brother suspiciously at first before taking the bag.

“Thank you. Yours is on the dining room table.”

“Okay, thanks. I’ll go get it in a minute.”

Dean went back to his room and sat on the bed, promptly wolfing down the pie first. Then he gathered up the rest and went out to the living room. Sam was eating at the table alone, lost in thought as he studied the rain that was starting to spatter against the windows.

“Hey,” said Dean as he began to pull a chair out. “This seat taken?”

“All yours. You’re going to need a steak knife.”

Dean went into the kitchen and got one, then sat down and unpacked the entree and sides.

“Kind of a shame to eat a meal like this out of styrofoam,” Sam remarked mildly, as if he were afraid to speak at all to his temperamental brother.

“Nah. Cuts back on dishes.”

“True.”

Dean slowly ate half his steak but didn’t really taste much of it. His mind was elsewhere entirely; actually, scattered across several lines of thought all at once.

“Castiel wants me to teach private lessons at the center,” he said carefully, not wanting to give away the news about Gabriel and the trio yet.

Sam took a deep swig of his tea.

“You’re really good with kids. That’s a brilliant idea.”

Dean’s heart warmed instantly. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d received a compliment from Sam.

“Thanks. Um, sorry, I haven’t even thanked you for this dinner yet. Quite a feast.”

“Yeah.”

More silence, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

“Um, Dean? Dad called me this morning. Right after you left for rehearsal.”

Dean set his fork down.

“What the fuck did he want?”

“He’s in jail, actually.”

Dean had to force swallow down the mashed potatoes that were currently occupying his mouth in order to make room for words. “He’s….he’s _what_?”

“Yeah, he was on a job and got nailed for trespassing and vandalism. Got the vamps _and_ sixty days.”

“Holy shit.” Dean was flabbergasted.

“Yeah. So we don’t have to worry about him for a while.”

Dean thought about Charlie suddenly. He wasn’t ready to admit he didn’t want her anymore. So he kept quiet and tried to enjoy the rest of his meal.


	55. Chapter 55

Dean called Castiel shortly after his meal with Sam, and agreed to start teaching private lessons the following Monday. Castiel had been very pleased, of course, but cut the conversation so short that Dean naturally went into a quick spiral of doubt and regret at perhaps catching his mentor at a bad time.

It didn’t last long, however. He went back to his computer to pull up the anger management program, and decided to start it over from the beginning.

Step one was declaring what he hoped to get out of the course. He wiped out his previous answers and started over, adding a few at the end. The last one was “creating a lasting friendship with Sam.”

Step two: have a plan for handling anger. He wiped out his answers again and re-wrote them, adding in Gabriel’s tactic to close his eyes and wait it out. He also added in “accept or ask for discipline if I fail,” although it made him squirm to even write those words.

Step three was to “learn from individuals who had already recovered from anger issues.” He didn’t know anyone and got quickly stumped, so he moved on to number four: “never take action based on anger.”

Dean flinched at that one. It was basically the very definition of his personality in the past few months, and wasn’t easy to change. Time to skip to number five: “Learn meditation.”

He closed the lid on the laptop and walked back out the living room. Sam was now on the couch, watching the evening news.

“Our president is such a dumbshit,” Sam grumbled. “Probably for the best you don’t know what’s going on in the world right now.”

“Yeah. Um, I have a favor to ask. Not right now, but since you’re here...”

Sam muted the television. “What?”

“I was wondering if you could print out something for me. For my therapy thing. Well, google it first and then print it out.”

“Want to use my laptop?”

Dean gulped. “Yeah, but...I can’t. Legally. Thanks though.”

Sam sat up. “Right. Can you bring it out here then while I plug in the printer?”

“Sure.”

Dean went into Sam’s room and was surprised to see papers scattered all over the bed in neat little piles. He stepped forward to take a closer look.

Job applications and cover letters. Tons of them. _Shit_.

He carefully took the laptop back out and set it in front of Sam. “This won’t take long, I promise.”

“No problem. What are we looking up?”

“Meditation for dummies, I guess.”

Sam paused in his typing. “Meditation? That’s part of it, too?”

Dean blushed. “Yeah. Don’t make fun, please.”

“Wasn’t planning to. Go in my room and look on the bookshelf. I think second from the top. I have three or four books on the subject.”

Dean blushed again. “You meditate, Sam?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. Been meaning to start it for years. Never seem to have the time.”

“Got it.” Dean got up again and went into Sam’s room. He actually had _Meditation for Dummies_ . Dean almost took that one, but he didn’t like referring to himself as a dummy. He took the next one down instead, _Meditation for Skeptics._ Yes, that sounded exactly right. Sam was in the kitchen now, rummaging around noisily.

“I got one,” Dean said over the din. “Thanks.”

Sam stopped what he was doing, a huge spatula in one hand as he turned around to look at his brother. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Nothing. I’m just...are you _glad_ dad’s in jail?”

“Would you hate me if I said yes?”

“No.” Sam set the spatula down. “That would be hypocritical. I was thinking of how guilty I felt for wishing he’d gotten more than sixty days.”

Dean chuckled a little. “Yeah, me too. He’ll be out in a week due to overcrowding. I’m gonna go read this book, okay?”

“Wait. I also wanted to say...you know, that I really admire you for taking all this therapy stuff seriously. I know you really don’t want to, but you’re doing it, and now you’re teaching for Castiel, and soon you’re gonna travel the world with him. I’m proud of you, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes stung suddenly. “No chick flick moments.”

“It’s not! I just have to admit I’m really jealous of...not, not jealous. Envious, I guess. You really stepped up at the exact moment I fucked it all up. With Cas, I mean. And with you, and dad. Michael never liked me in the first place. My company won’t hire me back because I left on short notice. I’m literally on everybody’s shit list right now.”

“Not Gabriel’s.”

“His, too. He just called me. Cas fired him for the stunt we pulled with Charlie. He basically told me to fuck off and get lost.”

Sam looked like a whipped puppy all of a sudden, but Dean was having a tough time mastering up any sympathy at the moment.

“Wow, Sam. Get yourself an ankle monitor and no one will be able to tell us apart anymore. How about Castiel, did he say you’re done?”

“Don’t know. He won’t return my calls.”

Dean didn’t know what to say, because he was afraid of overstepping his bounds if he told Sam that the trio was on hold. The last thing he needed was Castiel pissed off at him for blabbing about their conversation.

“Wow. I’ll tell you one thing that should cheer you up, then.”

Sam frowned deeply. “Good luck with that. Let’s hear it.”

Dean steeled himself. “You were right about Charlie. Not to sell her, I mean. That was fucked up beyond belief. I mean about the hold she has over me. You and Gabriel were dead on.”

Sam perked up a little. “Didn’t expect to hear that, of all things.”

“Yep. Can you list her on eBay again for me?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. I’ll do it tonight.”

“Thanks. I’m gonna go to bed. Goodnight, bitch.”

“Goodnight, jerk.”


	56. Chapter 56

Charlie sold for the “Buy It Now” price within 48 hours on eBay. It took a few tries and lots of explaining, but Sam managed to get permission from Bela to take his brother out shopping for a new violin over the weekend. But first things first; Dean was able to use the money from Charlie’s previous sale to pay back Sam almost $7,500 he owed him from a year of getting behind on rent and utility bills. That was a huge weight off his shoulders. 

What was left over, plus the advance on his first paycheck that Castiel had given him, plus the $10,000 for Charlie’s second sale, would be more than enough to purchase a professional violin. It certainly wouldn’t be good enough to play for a trio on a world tour, but that could be dealt with later. 

Dean had never had so much cash in his life, and he nearly passed out when Sam handed him an ATM receipt when they stopped by the bank.

“Holy shit, Sam. I have over twenty thousand dollars!”

“Yep. Which shop do you want to go to first?”

“Allemande. Hey, who bought Charlie? I never even asked.”

“A collector in Boston. I looked him up, and he probably would’ve paid more for her. Kinda regretting not setting the ‘buy it now’ price a lot higher.”

Dean was running a finger over all the digits on the receipt and tried to think of the highest it had ever been. Something like $3,900, he remembered. When he’d gotten his teaching advance. The lowest was the time he got overdrawn by almost a hundred bucks, which wasn’t that long ago. Last week, maybe? How fast things could change.

“Dean?”

“What?”

“I asked what your budget is. For the new violin. Hang on, my phone’s ringing.”

Dean pulled it out of the dashboard tray and handed it over.

“It’s Castiel.”

Sam swallowed hard and immediately pulled into a parking lot. “Fuck. I’m scared what he’s gonna say. Hang on. Good morning, Mr. Novak.”

Dean felt his heart pounding painfully. He hadn’t spoken to Castiel for several days.

His brother didn’t really say anything. He was just listening for a long time, staring straight ahead, while Dean writhed in the passenger seat and tried to keep himself from jumping out of his own skin.

“Yes, sir.”

 _Long silence_.

“I understand, and I don’t blame you. Yes, sir.”

_Oh, fuck._

“You too, thank you.” Sam finally hung up.

“Oh my god what did he say?” Dean blurted anxiously.

Sam took a deep breath. “He just fired me. I’m officially unemployed.”

Dean caught his breath with effort. “Oh, shit. I’m... _fuck_. I’m so very sorry.”

Sam was eerily calm. “Me too. But I expected it. Forget it - this is your day, not mine. Let’s go get your violin.”

“Wait, doesn’t he have to pay you severance or something?”

“No, I’m still within my 30-day probation period. Tomorrow was the last day, so...”

“Dude. I don’t even know what to say.” Dean felt like crying. This was not what he wanted by any means, even though a tiny (very tiny) little part of him was unquestionably mollified, to his dismay. 

Sam was perfectly silent as he drove to the violin shop and pulled in half an hour later. “Bet you’re loving this,” he grumbled as they turned into the parking lot. 

Dean nodded. “I mean, it won’t be a Guadagnini, but yeah. Being able to buy my own violin is sweet as hell.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Sam turned off the car and aggressively yanked up the parking brake. “I mean, you’re loving _this_. Seeing me get my comeuppance. Learning what it’s like to be fired, which I know you have lots of experience with. Must be really satisfying to see the tables turn, huh?”

Dean’s jaw dropped a little. “No, Sam.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“Stop it. Don’t be a fucking idiot. I’m not dad.”

Sam quickly got out of the car, and Dean hopped out hurriedly to follow him towards the store, praying that his brother wouldn’t cause a scene inside. But they were ten minutes early for Dean’s appointment, so the door was locked and they were stuck outside with nothing to do but glare at each other.

“Sam, whatever you’re thinking, just fucking stop it. Does this look like my happy face to you?”

“No idea. Haven’t seen it in years.”

“Gee, I wonder why that is! In case you haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said for the past week and month, you can thank yourself and dad for that.”

Sam crossed his arms and huffed. “And Lisa. Well, now we’ll all be out of the picture soon, so you can just-”

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean warned dangerously as he turned and shoved his brother in the chest, forcing him to back up a half-step. “I mean it. I will fucking kick you in the nuts right here if you say one more time that I’m happy about this.”

He stared his brother down angrily and was satisfied when Sam finally backed away and put his hands up in surrender.

“Fine. Sorry.”

Dean turned away when the door to the shop opened.

“You two done brawling on my doorstep like hooligans?” the gruff man queried irritably. 

“Yes, sir,” Dean said quickly. “Mr. Singer?”

“The one and only. Come in, but keep your hands to yourself. You break it, you buy it, but only _after_ I’m done kicking your ass.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean and Sam said together, a little sheepishly.

“Any relation to John Winchester?”

Sam jumped a little. “Our father has that name.”

“Thought so. Sold him a Delange back in the day. One of you was with him, just a tiny little baby at the time.”

Dean audibly gulped as he stole a glance at Sam. “That was me.”

“No offense, but I hope you two didn’t take after him. Cranky old bastard. Alright, let’s get started.”


	57. Chapter 57

“Hey Dean,” Sam called out from where he was sitting with his laptop on his knees. “You gotta check this out before you leave.”

“Just a sec,” Dean called from the bedroom, where he was busy polishing (unnecessarily) his new violin for the twentieth time. It was beautiful. He loved the deep chestnut color of the body, the lighter pegs, and the real silver filigree around the f-holes and tailpiece, instead of the usual cheap-looking gold paint. But the best part was that it was brand new. Nobody had played it but him (and the makers), so there were no baggage or ghosts to go along with it. For Dean, owning something so lovely that wasn’t handed down or gifted to him was huge and unprecedented.

Sam eventually got tired of waiting for his brother and strolled into the bedroom.

“So get this. A press release from Novak Arts Center last night says Gabriel Angel has been _promoted_ to the director of educational programming.”

“What the fuck? Thought he was fired?”

“He’s a partner, so he can’t be fired without massive disruption to the organization’s finances. But Castiel is CEO and can re-assign him anywhere he wants.”

Dean groaned a little. “Educational programming. Great. That’s my department now. That reminds me...Sam, there’s something I haven’t told you yet.”

Sam froze.

“What?”

“Um. I kinda quit the trio. Castiel said I can re-audition in a month, when he starts rehearsals back up again.”

Sam’s expression darkened, making Dean reflexively shrink back a little bit.

“When did this happen, and why?”

“Last Wednesday. It’s a long story.”

“Why didn’t you fucking tell me?”

Dean took another step back; Sam had never hit him first before, but the possibility was always in the forefront of Dean’s mind. Especially when his face looked like _that_.

Sam didn’t wait for an answer. He stormed out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Dean walked over and opened it back up.

“Does this mean you’re not driving me to work after all?” he joked feebly at his brother’s departing form.

No answer. Sam’s own bedroom door then slammed, and the door locked with a loud click. _Fuck._

Dean picked up the phone to call him and apologize. He was sent instantly to voicemail, so he gloomily made another call to the taxi company and trudged outside to wait.

Less than a minute later he suddenly heard the telltale roar of the Impala rounding the corner, but he couldn’t get his keys out of his pocket fast enough to get inside before dad saw him. Now he knew what it was like to feel like a deer in the headlights; he froze helplessly as the car sidled into the driveway and the driver side door popped open.

“Hi,” Dean croaked hurriedly, his tongue suddenly thick and heavy. “You’re out already.”

“Get out of my way,” John grumbled as he slammed the door and advanced towards his oldest. Dean quickly went down the steps and nearly fell into the bushes trying to avoid his angry father.

“Dad, Sam can’t have visitors,” he said as steadily as he could manage.

John stopped in his tracks. “Why not?”

“Terms of my house arrest. Sorry. But you guys can meet somewhere else.”

John searched his keychain as if looking for Sam’s house key, which sent Dean into a near-panic. He had no idea if there was one, but knowing dad, he’d probably made a copy without Sam’s consent.

“Dad! You’re gonna get us in trouble. Stop it.”

Sam was at the door now.

“Hiya Sammy. You and I have another reckoning today, my boy. That lawsuit you got me into is gonna cost me everything, and you’re gonna pay it out of your ass right here and now.” He turned around and barked, “Dean, go to work and mind your own fucking business.”

“Sam,” Dean said quickly, “call the police.”

John spun around and backhanded his son across the face so hard that Dean lost his perilous stance on the edge of the walkway and fell backwards into the hedgerow, violin and all.

Sam took a step outside and raised his phone up; he had in fact called 911 and put it on speaker. When the operator came on the line, Sam raised his eyebrows at John as if to say, _your move, asshole._

John glared at his two sons in turn and retreated to his car like a wounded animal, then sped off as quickly as he’d appeared. Sam shakily apologized into the phone for the butt dial, then came down the steps and helped Dean get back up.

“You okay? Your violin’s good, landed real soft on the bushes.”

Dean sputtered furiously as he rose to his feet. “Sprained my damned wrist. You fucker!”

This last part was not shouted at Sam, but in the direction of the departed Impala. Sam quickly shushed his brother.

“Come inside, let’s get those cuts on your arms cleaned up.”

Following Sam in like an extra from the _The Walking Dead_ , Dean tested his left wrist by trying to circle it around. It only went one way willingly. The other way was too painful to bear, but Dean gritted his teeth and tried again. Nope.

“Shit. I’m gonna fucking kill him next time I see him!”

“Don’t say that.” Sam disappeared for a few moments, then came back with bandages, Bactine, and alcohol wipes. “Do you want to go to urgent care?”

“No insurance. I quit, remember?”

“Okay, then sit still.”

When Sam finished his ministrations, Dean called Castiel and began to say he was feeling sick, but Sam wrenched away the phone before he could finish.

“Sam!” he protested, eyes wet with unshed tears.

“Mr. Novak, Dean’s been injured and needs a doctor. Was his insurance canceled?...thank you...no, dad hit him…I will, thanks.” Sam hung up. “It’s still active.”

“Oh my god. What did he say?”

“He actually swore. Wow. I’m in shock. Come on, let’s go.”


	58. Chapter 58

Dean learned in shock at the ER that he had fractured his wrist while breaking his fall, and to say he was irate was putting it extremely mildly. He was quickly discharged with a splint and ice packs, but refused to speak of the incident with Sam whatsoever. The entire ride home consisted of him glaring out the window in stony silence and sighing heavily every few minutes.

Sam left him alone until he realized they were being followed by a police car.

“Dean. _Dean_.”

“What?”

“Think I might get pulled over. Make sure your hands are visible and put that bag on the floor.”

Dean complied, his heart lodged firmly in his throat.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing. Maybe I’m just being paranoid. Or...fuck, he just lit me up. Damn.”

“Crap.”

Sam pulled over and took several deep breaths to calm himself as the officer apparently ran his plates and then took his sweet time walking up to the car.

“Relax, Sam,” Dean warned, even though he was far more anxious than his brother. Then he felt like he was going to throw up when the officer put his hand on his gun and firmly ordered them out.

“Sir,” Dean blurted as he and Sam were told to put their hands on the trunk of the car. “My parole officer was informed of my trip to urgent care. We’re on the way home now. See? Broke my wrist.”

“You were pinging so far off the grid that we actually got sent out to arrest you. Who’s your parole officer?” the large man asked while he thoroughly patted down Dean from top to bottom, junk and all.

“Bela Talbot.” Dean could barely breathe. Being out of bounds with an ankle monitor was extremely serious business. He pictured himself in jail within the hour and wondering if Bobby Singer would take back the violin at full price so Sam could bail him out.

Sam was on the other side of the car, looking as petrified as a lost little boy.

“Calm down, son,” the officer said worriedly as Dean began to gasp and get dizzy, and said he thought he was having a heart attack.

“Need to...lay down…”

“You’re alright. Breathe. We’re getting Talbot on the phone. These things do malfunction sometimes.”

“Dean, it’s gonna be okay,” Sam called, but Dean was already too far gone. Sam’s betrayals, dad’s abuse, the broken wrist, the lost jobs...the lost childhood... _everything…it_ was all officially too much to juggle any longer.  

So right there, only two blocks from the safety of Sam’s house, he finally. fucking. _broke_.

The last thing he heard before the world turned sparkly grey and upside down was the officer calling for medical assistance.

——

“Hey,” Sam whispered worriedly as Dean slowly parted his eyelids and peered at his brother through the dark gloom.

Dean shut his eyes again, not wanting to know where he was or remember why he was there.

“Leave me alone,” he croaked with effort.

“Dude, I’ve seen you crazy upset before. But _that_ ...what the hell _was_ that? You scared the shit out of me, Dean! They almost took you to the loony bin!”

Dean mumbled something that Sam didn’t catch.

“What?”

 _Silence_.

“You know you’re safe, right? Everything’s fine. Your monitor is off for repair, so you’ll be stuck at home for a day or so as soon as you’re discharged…….Dean?”

_Silence._

“While you were sleeping the moving van arrived with the rest of the stuff from your apartment. It’s all there in my garage, safe and sound. Anything you need from it?”

 _Silence again_.

“Dean. Come on man, talk to me. I really need to know you’re still with me.” Sam sounded desperate. “Besides physically, I mean.”

“...charges...” Dean mumbled.

“What?”

“I’m gonna. Press.”

“Oh. Against dad, you mean?”

“Mmmhmmm. Fucker.”

Sam picked up Dean’s discharge papers that were waiting for a doctor’s sign-off before they could go. The nurse said it would be twenty minutes. That was almost three hours ago.

“You know, I used to always think that people who talked about hyperventilating were being drama queens. Breathing in the whole paper bag and stuff. But that was some seriously scary shit. Your blood pressure was almost two hundred. You could’ve had a stroke. Fuck, I was freaking out more than you were for a minute.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“You feeling okay?”

Dean groaned. “No.”

“Doctor says bed rest for three days. You’ll have to call Castiel at some point and tell him you’re not coming in this week.”

“Never gonna play again.”

“This is temporary, Dean. They didn’t amputate your hand. You’ll be fine in six weeks. You can still teach in the meantime.”

Dean was silent and then appeared to fall back to sleep, so Sam quietly got up and went into the hallway to call Michael. Before he’d finished dialing, he lost his nerve, hung up, and called Castiel instead.

“Hello, Sam. How’s Dean?”

“He’s not good.”

“I know. As his employer I was automatically notified of his arrest warrant. But it appears everything was cleared up, is that correct?”

“Yes, sir. They handcuffed us both for like five minutes until the ankle monitor pinged Dean 20 miles away while he was in the back of the police car. We’re at the hospital now. He had...an _acute hyperventilation attack_ , they said. Freaked me out.”

“One of my students gets them frequently. Not pleasant to watch or to experience.”

Sam took a deep breath. “Dean wants to press charges against dad. I’m rusty on criminal law, so...anyway, I wanted to call you first and get your permission to call Michael. With the way things have been, I didn’t want to overstep my bounds or anything. Not to mention that he hates me.”

“He hates everybody. He’s on a flight to Japan. I’ll ask him to call you when he lands. What happened with John?”

Sam took a deep breath and began to tell the story.


	59. Chapter 59

Even with his two years as a teacher, it turned out Dean had zero clue how to actually teach musicians. His very first lesson was a disaster, and he was quickly summoned by Gabriel after a complaint from the 14-year old to his mother led to further complaints that reached Gabriel’s ears.

Dean was obliged to report to Gabriel’s office later that day, which he did while moping and in pain from accidentally twisting his wrist despite the splint. Not to mention, he was pissed off at Castiel for making him return to work on the Friday that his doctor’s note expired, rather than granting his request to to take it off and allow for an entire week of recovery.

It was a petty complaint, sure, but Dean was at the point where literally everything was fair game to be bitched about and nothing was too petty for him. That especially included having Gabriel as his new boss.

“Dean, come in,” Gabriel said calmly as Dean pounded on his door rather than knocking politely. “Have a seat. This is going to be a long meeting. When do you need to be home?”

Dean flushed hotly. “In two hours. If it’ll be longer than that, I’ve gotta clear it first.”

“No, that’s good.  I’m going to teach you how to teach violin lessons. We should have done this training before you had your first student, like I do for the rest of my teachers, and for my oversight on that detail I sincerely apologize.”

Dean relaxed a little at that, but a stubborn little piece of his brain still clung onto the suspicion that he had been deliberately set up to fail.

“Apology accepted,” he said between slightly gritted teeth, making a conscious effort not to wring his hands.

“How is your wrist, first of all?”

“Fine.”

Gabriel frowned. “Address me properly, Dean. This is a formal meeting and I’m your manager.”

Dean squirmed in his chair a little, but willed himself not to make a rude retort.

“My wrist is fine, sir. Thank you for asking.”

“Good. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s talk about the feedback from your first lesson. First things first: they’re teenagers, so cut out the swearing.”

“Sorry, bad habit.”

“Thank you. Secondly, you’re being a little too harsh. Encouragement is the order of the day here, most of the time.”

Dean shrugged. “He wasn’t listening. I can only say the same thing so many times without getting frustrated.”

Gabriel sighed and set down the feedback sheet.

“Alright. We have a lot more work to do than I first realized. Let’s start from the absolute basics.”

——-

As much as Dean disliked Gabriel, he had to admit that the man was an excellent trainer and teacher. At the end of two hours, Dean felt perfectly equipped to take on students the following Monday.

He also realized that the feedback he had gotten from his first student was eerily familiar, but it didn’t hit him why until much later. He had been acting just like his dad.

The harshness. The swearing. The refusal to have a sense of humor. He felt slightly ashamed as he thought about some of the things he had said to his fifth graders over the years. Okay, really ashamed. He had known his students liked him, but they had never loved him. Dean never tried to get them to, either. He’d always accepted he was chronically unlovable.

Three hours later upon arriving to Sam’s house, he decided to change that. Nobody would ever be able to say again that Dean took after John Winchester. At his request, Sam purchased and printed for him an entire leadership course for music teachers, and he stayed up all night completing the first workbook.

The next day, Sam confessed to telling Castiel and Michael all about what led to Dean’s broken wrist, and more, then asked him if he was still considering pressing charges.

Dean blew up - thoroughly and predictably - then said no, and angrily went back to his workbook. He didn’t talk to Sam or Castiel for two weeks afterwards unless absolutely necessary.

——

“Hey Dean, come on in.”

Dean shut the door behind him and sat in front of Gabriel. For once, he wasn’t resentful or nervous. The man hadn’t been hostile or snotty to him since they first met about the lessons, which Dean found strange and suspicious...until he remembered that now Gabriel had nothing to be jealous about. Since then, they’d actually been getting along extremely well.

“Sorry I’m late, sir. The last lesson went a little over.”

“No problem. That’s what I asked you here for. Turns out you’re a big hit, and students are now complaining they can’t get a time slot with you. I want you to go full time. Don’t give me an answer now. You’ve had a long day and it’s almost time to go home and enjoy the weekend.”

Dean blinked back the sting in his eyes. Finally, _finally_ , something fucking good was happening to him again. He could scarcely believe it. Full time meant benefits. Medical and everything.

“Thank you so much,” he said politely. “I want to accept.”

“Not so fast. There’s one caveat.”

Because of course there was a fucking caveat.

“Let me guess. I have to meet with Castiel first?”

“Yep. You’re officially running out of excuses to avoid him, and he’s running out of patience.”

Dean inhaled slowly. “Right now, you mean?”

“He’s not here. You can come in tomorrow, or Monday morning before lessons.”

“Tomorrow is best.”

“Okay. I’ll set it up. You have to remember something, Dean. He didn’t ask for Sam to spill your entire life story to him.”

Dean shrugged. “He didn’t have to listen to it, either. None of his damned business.”

Gabriel eyed him warningly. “That’s enough.”

“Sorry.”

“You’re doing great lately, Dean. Glad to have you on the team. And let’s try to keep it that way.”

Dean nodded. “Understood, sir.”

  
  



	60. Chapter 60

Dean hadn’t touched his new violin since John’s visit. Much like he’d done with Charlie, the instrument was assigned to an undignified corner of the closet and forgotten about. He tried not to think of it as tainted by the incident, but somehow - even just by being an innocent witness to it - the association couldn’t be prevented, and his enthusiasm had all but disappeared. 

He woke up Saturday morning cranky and hungry, and wandered into the kitchen to find Sam apparently cooking breakfast for both of them. Either that or his appetite had grown exponentially since his previous meal, judging by the amount of bacon in the pan.

“Hey Dean. Hungry?”

No answer. Dean reached into the pantry for a box of cereal.

“Still not talking, huh?”

Dean opened the fridge and took the milk out, then turned around to open the cupboard where the bowls were kept. Sam stepped in front of him to block his way and was rewarded with a glare that nearly scorched his eyebrows.

“Out of my fucking way,” Dean growled.

Sam smiled a little. “Oh, he still knows how to talk. Good.”

Dean reached out to shove his brother in the chest, but Sam beat him to it and clamped onto both upper arms and gently pushed Dean backwards against the fridge. He towered over his brother and had often used his height to his advantage to get his way when they were younger, or to defend himself. This time it was something else altogether, and he held on firmly while Dean tried in vain to squirm away.

“Dean, stop it. Time for a long overdue Hallmark moment.”

“Get off me!”

“Not until you hear what I have to say and acknowledge that I said it, whether you agree with it or not.” Sam squeezed and pushed just a little bit tighter, and Dean finally stilled now that he was completely pinned.

“Get it over with and get the hell out of my face, Sam.”

“That’s my intention. Dean, stop being so fucking selfish. Have you bothered to take a look at _my_ pathetic life, lately? You think _you’ve_ lost everything? At least you committed an actual crime to get yourself in this mess. All I did was pat you on the ass. If you hadn’t overreacted like a little bitch, I’d be touring the world in 4 months instead of being unemployable for god knows how long. So get your head out of your ass and stop bitching about me trying to help you. Do we understand each other better now?”

Dean wasn’t expecting that, and it took him a few awkward moments to gather his thoughts. “Wow. Thought you were gonna give me a Hallmark moment, Sam. That was more like the John Winchester special.”

Sam released him and turned back to the bacon. “Do you need a ride to the center?”

“What?”

“I said-”

“I heard what you said,” Dean interrupted savagely. “But what the fuck was that? You just drop a bomb on me like it’s nothing, and think everything will go back to normal?”

Sam shrugged. “You have a meeting with Castiel. I’m offering you a ride because you’re my brother, and brothers are supposed to help each other.”

“It took you 22 years to figure that out, huh?”

“Yeah, but at least I figured it out at all, and I’m not a hypocrite about it. You’ve never lifted a finger to try to help me even though you’ve had 26 years to do it.”

Dean froze, his body coursing hot with adrenaline. “Because you never needed any help, Sammy. You have it all. Look at this house. At your bank account. Your car. I...what on earth am I supposed to help you with? Housekeeping? Relationship advice?”

Sam didn’t answer. He set the bacon piece by piece onto paper towels while Dean inched out of the kitchen and moved to the other side of the island in order to see his brother from the side instead of staring at his massive back.

“Sam?”

“Do you want toast?”

Dean sat down in one of the stools at the counter. “No, thanks.”

Sam set down the plate of breakfast in front of his brother. “I’m going to run some errands. Do you want me to drop you off first, or not?”

“No. I don’t want your help anymore, since it’s such a burden for you.” He picked up his fork, but was astonished when Sam snatched the plate back and dumped the breakfast straight in the trash.

“What the fuck, Sam?” he asked irritably, although he was smart enough to know exactly what the fuck it’d meant. Sam stalked into his bathroom, and the sound of a shower could be heard shortly afterwards.

Dean hungrily eyed Sam’s still-steaming breakfast that he’d left abandoned on the counter near the stove. He got up and went over to it, but after a few long seconds of internal debate and two aborted attempts to steal a piece a bacon, covered it in aluminum foil and put it in the fridge untouched. Then he grabbed a bowl and quietly sat at the counter to eat stale cereal before calling a taxi.

\----

Novak was already in his office when Dean arrived early and peeked through the glass window before taking a deep breath and knocking.

“Good morning. Have a seat.”

Dean did; his stomach was full of butterflies as Castiel took off his reading glasses and studied him thoughtfully. 

“You’ve been avoiding me because of what Sam told me.”

Dean held back a gasp, then nodded.

“Yes. Sorry, I just…my business is my business, you know?”

“Absolutely. But it’s a good thing he did, because now I’m going to give both of you back your positions in the trio. Unconditionally.”

Dean stiffened. “No. We’re not charity cases, with all due respect.”

“I knew you would say that. You’re incurably stubborn, Dean.” Castiel smiled a little. “Unfortunately for you, I am too. So let’s talk.”


	61. Chapter 61

“There are three ways this conversation can go,” Castiel began as he handed Dean a bottle of water. “One, you can accept that I know far more than you’re comfortable with and we can move past that and have a productive discussion about the trio. Two, you can refuse to accept it and stonewall me to the point where I end this meeting in frustration. Or three, you can end our talk yourself by running away again. I’ll let you choose which direction you’d like to take it.”

Dean absently tapped a rhythm out on his knee while he contemplated what move he was going to take next.

“I won’t run off or stonewall you,” he finally answered.

“Good. It’s important that we’re 100% honest with each other from now on. I want to know what’s bothering you about my offer, if you’re comfortable sharing.”

Dean wasn’t comfortable, actually. “I don’t know if you’ll like my honesty. For one thing, I resent the fact that you required me and Sam to do family therapy.”

Castiel cocked his head a little. “The emotional well-being of all my employees is not negotiable when their problems interfere with their work. I’ve never known a more relevant example than having to deal with the underlying animosity that exists between you and Sam.”

 _Fair enough,_ Dean thought. 

“Not only that,” Castiel continued steadily, “but your family member who isn’t even employed by me helped cost me money and a valuable musician.”

“Benny left?”

“He did. I have to find a new alternate. But that was John and Sam’s doing, not yours. Continue.”

Dean nodded. Finally something he didn’t have to feel guilty about. “Alright, um. I guess...I don’t feel good enough to be paid so much.”

“You’re not yet. But you will be. That’s why we have four months to rehearse. Next excuse?”

“May I have another bottle of water?” Dean asked in order to buy himself more time to think. Castiel glanced at the half-full bottle he was holding but didn’t comment, and went to get a new bottle while Dean took deep, counted breaths to steady himself.

“Look behind you,” Castiel said suddenly as he handed the bottle over, the change in topic throwing Dean wildly off course.

“I’m sorry?”

“Look behind you. The green case. Go open it.”

Dean got up and slowly sidled over to the case with his heart in his throat. It had to be the Guadagnini.

“Is this...is this what I think it is?” Dean asked as he popped open the first latch.

Castiel didn’t answer. Dean’s breath was taken away at the sight of the 250-year old instrument’s comfy nest of satin and velvet lining. He lifted the gorgeous instrument and rested it on his shoulder and gently plucked the strings. It was heavenly.

But….

_Put the $900,000 violin down before you break it, like you break everything else._

Dean replaced the instrument and locked the case, then returned to his chair. 

“Interesting,” Castiel murmured quietly.

"What?”

“The way your confidence evaporated in front of my eyes. It was almost visceral. Are you doing your solo therapy sessions yet?”

“I’m sorry, but that’s private.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Dean, if you agree to come back to the trio, a lack of confidence is going to be a huge, insurmountable obstacle. I need to know you’re working on your issues. All of them.”

Dean laughed a little. “My issues in themselves are insurmountable obstacles. I should accept Gabriel’s offer to teach full time. I’ll just fuck this tour up, and we all know it.” 

Castiel didn’t change expression at all, but his body language told another story. “You like teaching, then?”

“Yeah. The kids look up to me. They listen to me. Admire me. I’m not used to that.”

“You know that teaching is a big part of the tour also, right?”

Dean looked at him blankly. “What do you mean?”

“On the day of every concert we visit a local school and give music clinics. It’s not optional. Some of my musicians have hated it, but I think you’d enjoy that.”

“Oh.”

“You said your issues are insurmountable. I disagree. You think I’m paying you too much, so you can forgo a salary and accept a percentage of ticket sales instead. After all, the reason I want to hire you both is to sell tickets. Seems fair you should reap what you sow.”

Dean squirmed like one of his restless fifth graders. “Okay.”

“The only thing I’m not willing to negotiate is the mental health rider. That stays intact. What else are you having a problem with? The discipline rider?”

“Only because I have no idea what I can get in trouble for. Everything?”

“I have no desire to control your life, Dean. I’m only concerned about my financial investment in you, and the reputation of this organization. Anything that endangers either of those aspects is highly annoying to me.”

Dean swallowed down the dryness in his throat. “I think you should state exactly that, then.”

Castiel nodded. “I see. You need firm boundaries.”

“Yeah. I don’t do well with blanket statements. Or vague threats.”

“Got it. I’ll work on that. Anything else?”

“Last thing…my biggest problem is that I feel like a charity case.”

“You are.”

Dean froze. “What?”

“I felt really sorry for you after Sam and I talked, and decided to give you one more chance. I also felt sorry for you half a dozen times before, or else you’d be long forgotten by now. You deserve better than you’ve been given. I want to give you that. Is it a crime to have compassion nowadays?”

“Well…no…”

“Good. If it helps, you absolutely wouldn’t be here right now if I didn’t think I could make money off of you, compassion or not.”

Dean grinned. “That is oddly comforting somehow.”

“Good. Unless you want to nix this, I’ll call Sam now and make the same offer.”

Dean nodded.

“Call him.”

 

 

 


	62. Chapter 62

“Okay. This is kind of an important topic,” Dean complained irritably. “What the hell’s wrong with you? You’re like, in la-la land. Earth to Sam. Are you hearing anything I’m saying?”

Sam ran his hands through his hair twice, then a third time. “Okay, I’m just gonna come out and ask it. I can’t concentrate on these contracts while something else is bugging me so much. Why the hell aren’t you pressing charges against dad?”

Dean’s expression went from annoyed to resigned. “Not again. I told you why.”

“You told me nothing. I literally have no idea. Why don’t you grow a pair of balls and just do it? Take a fucking stand for a change!”

_Count to ten. Slowly. Breathe into the nostrils, out the lungs. Count to ten again if needed._

“You just want me to do it in order to distract him from going after _your_ sorry ass!”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “You really think that’s the kind of person I am?”

“Yeah,” Dean admitted. “I do, Sam.”

They stared each other down for a long time. Dean felt his heart pounding through his shirt, and reluctantly broke eye contact to pick up his contract again.

“We need to get this done before Novak changes his mind again. Concentrate, please. He said we both have to agree to the same thing - percentage, or salary. You’re the contract expert. What do you think is best?”

“He _broke_ your fucking _wrist_ , Dean.”

“Yeah, I know. Nice to see you finally standing up for me for a change. Now will you shut the hell up about it and-”

They froze as Sam’s cell rang with Castiel’s ringtone.

“Put it on speakerphone,” Dean said sharply, ignoring Sam’s protest.

“Sam,” said the disembodied voice on the other line. “I’m at the airport and have a few minutes. Do you two have any questions for me so far? I’ve been waiting all day to hear back, so I’m getting a little concerned.”

Dean swallowed hard as Sam took a deep breath. “Yes, sir. Regarding the pay. We really have no idea what the range of percentages could be like. Is that something you can share with us?”

“Certainly. Let me do the math on expected ticket sales. One moment.”

There was a silence so long that both brothers thought they had lost the call; they looked at each other questioningly for some time wondering what to do.

Then Castiel finally spoke again. “If the tour is an unprecedented total disaster you would net around twenty thousand. If it’s a huge success, it would top out at slightly under half a million.”

“Son of a bitch!” Dean exclaimed before he could stop himself. 

Sam’s eyes were wide, but the gears in his brain were vastly overpowering his emotion. “Could we negotiate a minimum of one hundred thousand with a smaller percentage?”

“Sam!” Dean hissed frantically. “Don’t argue with him!”

“It’s alright, Dean,” Castiel said evenly. “I fully expected Sam to negotiate. He is a lawyer, after all.”

“I need to lay down,” Dean whispered to Sam as he went over and flopped on the couch and started sweating bullets. He wasn’t listening at all as Sam and Castiel went back and forth about exactly what kind of percentages would be ideal. He had to fight the urge not to throw up, and nearly lost the battle. Twice.

“Dean. _Dean_!” he heard eventually.

“Huh?” He looked over and saw Sam looking at him and holding his hand tightly over the receiver to block his voice. “He wants to talk to you. Come on.”

Dean sat up and took the phone, which was no longer on speaker, then watched in confusion as Sam opened the patio door and went outside. “Where are you going? Yes, Mr. Novak. This is Dean.”

“Hello Dean. I can imagine you’re somewhat in a panic over hearing my high figure for-”

“You could say that,” Dean interrupted accidentally.

“If it helps you feel better, it’s incredibly unlikely you’ll reach even a quarter million. But I just wanted to be totally transparent so that you’re knowledgeable enough to be comfortable with your decision.”

_A quarter of a million dollars._

_For a drunken, fired elementary school teacher who lets dad beat the shit out of me without so much as a whimper._

“I’ll talk to Sam,” Dean finally responded. “He’s the expert.”

“Yes, do that. There’s one more thing. I amended your discipline rider but since I’m heading out of town for a few days, I have no way to get it to you without Sam seeing it. It’s fairly long.”

“Oh. Um, can you just give me the gist of it? I trust you.”

“No. Either I send it to Sam, or we have to wait until I get back. I won’t have time to read it to you over the phone.”

Dean looked outside; Sam was pacing on the far side of the pool.

“Can you...this is really awkward, but can you send it to Gabriel if he’s at the office? Or Michael? I can race over there and get a copy of it.”

 _Pause_. “Gabriel’s there. He’s going to read it. But if you’re comfortable with that, of course I can email it to him right now.”

“Please.” Dean glanced outside again. “Does that mean that my rider is different from Sam’s?”

“Yes. When I spoke to him earlier today he made it clear he wouldn’t proceed before opting out of the caning clause. If you want to as well, I have no problem with. As I said, it’s strictly personal choice.”

“I’m good,” Dean blurted. 

“If you’re sure,” Castiel said dubiously. “There’s no opting out once it’s chosen.”

“Yeah. My dad reminded me a while ago that physical punishments work really well for me. I don’t do well with lectures. Like, at all.”

“Okay.”

“But Sam can’t know about it under any circumstances.”

“Agreed. Anything else?”

“No. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome, Dean. I’ll see you next week.”  



	63. Chapter 63

Dean hadn’t expected to be so dismayed and surprised by the updated discipline rider. By the time he got it home and read it with the bedroom door locked, the shock about the percentage of profits had worn off. Now he was in for a new shock altogether, and it took him a while to comprehend it all.

There were penalties for everything under the sun. Swearing, being late, causing others to be late, missing scheduled phone calls, causing any event at all to run late, or over, or short, etc...the list was exhaustive. But, Dean had asked for that. He knew it, even as he grew more and more indignant. That he had specifically told Castiel this was what he wanted, and he got it.

_Be careful what you wish for._

But this wasn’t going to work. Even though 90% of the offenses wouldn’t result in any major penalty, he felt utterly suffocated and depressed by the whole thing. Novak was not messing around with his two investments, that much was clear. He was going to make sure they were tightly controlled.

Or maybe just him. Dean wondered idly if Sam had received the same list, but his brother was out with friends, so there was no chance to ask. He briefly thought of sneaking into the other bedroom and...no. He was better than that.

Gabriel had given Dean explicit instructions to call Castiel as soon as he had finished reading, and there was no more putting it off. He had been home for almost two hours. It was time.

Dean took a deep breath and picked up the phone.

\----------

Sam got home around 1am and found his brother fast asleep on the couch, the Roku remote in one hand and a can of ginger ale in the other. There was an open box of Cheez-Its on the table, and a bowl half-full of cold chili.

“Dude,” he said loudly as he set his car keys on the table. “Dean.”

“Mhhmm.”

“ _Dean_.”

“What?”

Sam staggered over to the couch, giggling as he went. “Dude. I’m so drunking funk right now. Drunking...fucking drunk. As fuck. Hi.”

Dean sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Nice, Sam. If you drove home this way I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

“Cab. I’m gonna throw up.”

“Great. I really needed to talk to you. Guess it has to wait now.”

He yelled that last part at Sam’s back as his brother dashed into his bathroom. Dean laid back down, the unwanted memories of his ugly conversation with Castiel flooding unpleasantly back into his tired brain.

_I’m confused. You asked for this, Dean. I did exactly what you wanted._

_No, you’re trying to control every moment of my fucking life is what you’re doing._

_I’ll go back to the old rider, then. There’s no reason to be so upset._

Dean got up and carried the solidified bowl of chili into the kitchen and scrubbed it out as he grumbled to himself. He wanted a beer so bad, it physically pained him.

_Trying to control me like I’m a fucking puppet. A kept puppet._

Sam staggered out of the bathroom, groaning. Dean pulled a 7-Up out of the fridge and took it to him.

“Sam. Drink this. You’re a fucking idiot, you know that? We have a 7am call with Novak, and you’re gonna be-”

“Shhhh. Too loud.” Sam put his pillow over his head, and Dean reached over to yank it off.

“You’re such a dick. I really needed to talk to you.”

“Then do it. Quickly.”

Dean sighed. “Castiel’s discipline rider. I want to see what yours says.”

“Dresser. Shhh.”

Dean reached behind him to grab the contract and perused it quickly. It was the same vague verbiage they had gotten previously, except that the caning option had been stricken out, just as Castiel had said. No long list.

“Sam, did you actually agree to this?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Why? It’s so broad-”

“Lemme sleep!”

“Fine. Bitch.”

Dean left, making sure to slam the door behind him as hard as possible.

\-------

“Mr. Novak, I’m sorry about yesterday. I’ve had some time to think about it, and there’s no question that I overreacted and said things I shouldn’t have.”

“It seems like every other conversation between us goes that way,” Castiel said tightly, and Dean jumped out of his skin just a little. Again. Something about the man’s tone when he was disappointed tended to make Dean feel terribly guilty and deeply sorry at his very core. No one else had that effect on him. Not even dad.

“I know. I’m working on that, sorry. But back to the rider...I totally get that you gave me exactly what I wanted. But I guess what I thought I wanted wasn’t it.”

“Understood. We’ll go back to the old one. Where’s Sam? This call was supposed to be between the three of us.”

“Yes, sir, I’m sorry. He has the stomach flu, or food poisoning. Came home last night from dinner really sick to his stomach. We were wondering if we could call you this afternoon?”

“Dean, I’m an extremely busy man. I don’t have time to fool around. Get him up and call me back ASAP.”

“B-but he’s sick-“

“I’m sure his hangover is fairly horrific,” Castiel replied with an unmistakable edge to his tone.

“Oh. He told you.”

“No. He was drunk texting me last night. All night long.”

“Shit.” Dean turned bright red and felt a heavy sense of dread pool in his stomach.

“If and when you sign your contract, Dean, lying becomes a very serious offense. Don’t forget that. Now go get him on the phone, please. Call me back.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dean scrambled into the bedroom and poked his brother hard. “Dude, I’m gonna kill you for real this time. Get up. You were drunk texting Novak last night, you fucking idiot.”

Sam sat up groggily, looking like death warmed over. “Oh my god.”

And then he threw up again.


	64. Chapter 64

“Jesus Christ,” Sam mumbled while scrolling through his messages. “I texted Castiel 24 times. Shit. Head hurts.”

Dean sat down on the couch and handed over Ibuprofen and water. 

“What did you say?”

“Mostly just kissed his ass and then...talked shit about Michael? Fuck.”

“Did he ever reply?” Dean asked, trying his absolute best not to read over Sam’s shoulder.

“Yeah, he told me to go home and go to bed, and...I told him he wasn’t my mother. He never replied after that.”

Dean shuddered. “Oh my god, Sam.”

“I texted dad, also. And you, and my old boss. Fuck. You gotta take my phone away from me when I drink, okay? This is just embarrassing.”

“You texted me? Nice one. I’ll get back to you in…” he calculated in his head how many days he had left of his accursed sentence. “Seventy one days.” 

Sam groaned again. “Let me get some more water before we call Castiel back,” Sam said as he got to his feet a little too quickly. “Shit. Ow.”

“Don’t trip over my cord.” Dean quickly pulled the charging cable for his ankle monitor out of the way. One of his biggest fears was breaking the damned thing and setting off that horrid squealing again; his ears were still ringing from the last time.

Sam went into the kitchen and busied himself while Dean eyed the phone that was sitting on the coffee table. He spotted his name in one of the messages to Castiel, so he purposely dropped his pen and bent over to pick it up so he could get closer.

_-Dean blames hismelf for everythng_

_-Go to bed, Sam_

_-No bed here in the bar lmfao_

_-How are you getting home_

_-I love him but don’t nkow how to say it_

_-Just tell him. Preferably when you’re sober_

Dean jumped as the phone rang, and Sam ran over to pick it up.

“Hello, sir. We’re both here. I’m so sorry for the delay.”

Castiel cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, as I explained to you both, this is the last time you’ll receive any offer from me. I won’t take it back despite how deeply irritated I am right now about your behavior this morning, Sam, and yours yesterday, Dean.”

“I’m sorry,” they both said together sheepishly.

“But let’s move on. I’m requiring you both to make some calls. Speak to Michael first about any legal questions you have in regards to the contract. Then Gabriel about any artistic concerns you have. Lastly, Chuck Shurley, my manager, about any logistical concerns you have about the tour itself. You also may ask him personal questions about me and my brothers at that time. He has been instructed to answer them fully and honestly as long as they’re relevant. Then, and only then, you’ll call me back for any follow up questions. Neither one of you is to sign anything before you make all four of those calls. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean and Sam said together. 

“Once you sign, you’ll be given twenty-four hours to cancel. After that period, the termination fee comes into effect, which is half your guaranteed salary.”

“How much would that be?” Dean blurted unthinkingly, which earned him a painful elbow in the side from Sam.

“A lot. I emailed the updated contracts to Sam a moment ago. Gentlemen, the last thing I want to say before I go is that I really am concerned that neither one of you seem to be taking this opportunity seriously. I’ve changed my mind about the discipline rider and have toughened it up considerably in the past half an hour. Right now it’s not negotiable, because at the moment I can’t trust you two to act like logical, reasonable adults. If you should impress me and prove me wrong in the next 60 days or so, we’ll revisit it.”

“We understand, sir,” Sam said quickly.

Castiel grumbled. “I hope so. I can’t risk being on the world stage with a couple of hooligans who can’t get along or behave themselves in public. The moment you sign, you’ll go into therapy together until the very last day of the tour. That’s also not negotiable. I’ve said before, I have seven siblings I’ve tried to keep together for years, with varying levels of success. So I know what path you two are headed down if you don’t reconcile your differences while you’re still young. Dean, you’ve accused me of being too much up in your business before, but once you sign, all your unfinished business becomes my problem once it starts interfering with your work. Which it already does, constantly. Do you both understand?”

“Yes, sir,” they responded together.

“Good. I want to talk to Dean alone before I go.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam replied. “Here he is.”

Dean took the phone, although he could hardly hold onto it because he was shaking so badly.

“Mr. Novak, I’m so sorry.”

“Dean, you know that I’m frustrated and angered by your self-destructive behavior. But that doesn’t mean I don’t understand it. I want to share with you that I’ve been in therapy with my brothers for many years due to our abusive father. To answer an old question of yours, we all have different last names because we didn’t want his after he left.”

Dean was stunned. “I...wow. I’m sorry.”

“We also weren’t speaking to each other for decades. Now we all share a profound bond, because we finally came together and realized that if we let our anger and our past control our future, we would never find happiness or purpose. All of us were once like you. Especially me. That’s why I’m so concerned for you and Sam. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” Dean responded hoarsely, his throat closing up a little. “I’m gonna sign the contract, Cas, just so you know.”

“Good. I’m pleased. But you still have to make those calls.”

“Of course.”

“And Dean?”

“Yes?” 

“Don’t ever call me ‘Cas’ again.”


	65. Chapter 65

“I need a beer, Sam. I just...I seriously need a fucking beer.”

“Oh my god. Don’t talk to me about alcohol right now,” Sam complained as he rubbed his temples. Dean looked down at his contract again from his spot on a pool chaise. The calls with Michael and Gabriel had gone well, but they had been too weirded out by Chuck Shurley to go farther than asking him a few questions about travel logistics. Never mind personal questions about Novak and his brothers, so the entire conversation had been somewhat of a disappointment.

“So, we haven’t really talked about the elephant in the room,” Dean began gloomily. “This whole new clause about me being in charge of you. I had nothing to do with that, hope you know that. I thought we’d both be equal under him. This isn’t what I wanted.”

“Dude, if it means traveling the world and potentially making half a million bucks in exchange for you telling me what to do every now and then for seven months, I’ll take it. Shit, I’ll take it.”

Dean grimaced. “Because you know I can’t tell you what to do, that’s why. You won’t listen. Novak's out of his fucking mind.”

“No, he’s not. He’s trying to establish a hierarchy between us, like the one he has with his brothers. And that also makes one less person for him to deal with. Never thought you’d be my boss. This is pretty surreal.”

“I won’t be your boss. Don’t be overdramatic. More like supervisor. But yeah, it’s pretty fucking surreal. You know what, though? I’m really impressed with how you’re taking it, Sam. I really am.”

Sam laughed. “We haven’t signed anything yet. This might be a nightmare for you. Or me, or both of us.” 

Dean fell quiet again, and the words on the paper blurred as he thought about Sam’s texts to Castiel.

_I love him but don’t know how to say it._

Somehow, the text had made Dean more depressed than happy. The whole saying about “what’s on a sober man’s mind is often on a drunk man’s tongue” seemed to be getting truer and truer by the hour, because Sam hadn’t said a peep or given any indication of how he really felt.

“What’s wrong, Dean? You’re lost in thought.”

“Yeah, I’m...I gotta be honest, Sam. I don’t know that I want this. The entire tour, I mean. Fuck, I don’t know what I want, period. Career-wise, life-wise, love-wise, everything. I’m so messed up.”

“So am I. In a different way.”

“You graduated Stanford at 19, Sam! Nobody is ever gonna tell you that you’re messed up.”

“Let’s change the subject, please. Um, there’s something I haven’t told you yet, because I didn’t want to distract from the contracts. So don’t let it, okay?”

Dean’s heart leapt into his throat. “Oh my god. What now?”

Sam sat upright in his chair and drank the rest of his soda. “Castiel...he said I have to read you the texts I sent him while I was at the bar. I got mad and deleted the entire thread out of spite. Need to ask you a favor.”

Dean closed his eyes for a few seconds and sighed. “You want me to tell him you read them to me.”

“Yeah.”

“Lie to him.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

Dean’s heart was pounding irregularly. “It’s not a lie if you actually tell me what was in them.”

“I don’t remember. Sorry. Please just-”

“Yeah you do, Sam. You totally do. I saw you scroll through them like a hundred times, so don’t give me that bullshit.”

“I don’t-”

“And you wouldn’t be protesting so much if they weren’t that bad. What did they say?”

Sam threw his legs over the side of the chair and got up to get in the pool. That was unfair and a tiny bit cruel, since Dean couldn’t join him with his ankle monitor. Sam swam around for a bit while Dean watched, resigned. Eventually Dean got up and sat down on the concrete directly between the pool ladder and the stairs. Sam would have to talk him now, unless he hauled himself bodily over the side in order to avoid him...or just kept swimming until he drowned.

“Talk to me, Sam. Whatever was in there, I can handle it. You want to go on this world tour so bad? Then you’re gonna have to tell me. Cuz I’m not signing on until you do.”

Sam ducked under the water and then clutched onto the ladder. “It was stupid. I was drunk, saying random shit. I even called his brother a dick.”

“Which one?”

“Michael.”

“Fair assessment. What else? You can’t lie. I’ll ask Castiel to show me those messages. He will, too.”

Sam looked away. Dean knew from his pouting expression that he wasn’t going to talk, so...

“I love you too, Sam. For the record, that’s exactly how you’d say it.”

Sam blushed. “That’s fucked up. If you already knew, why are you asking?”

“Why are you hiding it? Ashamed of me so bad that you can’t even say it out loud, huh? That’s pretty brutal.”

Dean started to stand up, but Sam reached up and grabbed his calf. “No. Wait. That’s not the part I was worried about telling you.”

“Oh.”

“I...said I’ll never respect you as long as you don’t stand up to dad and file charges.”

Dean’s heart fell. “And you mean that, huh?”

“Yeah, Dean. I do.” They watched a helicopter fly slowly overhead, then two, then three. 

“Another police pursuit,” Dean mused idly. “Gotta love Los Angeles.”

“Yeah.”

Dean’s hands were shaking again. “I’m scared, Sam.”

“Me too. But...the security cameras on my porch caught it all. Remember how free and relieved we felt when he was behind bars?”

Another round of helicopters flew over, and the brothers were silent until the sky was clear and peaceful again.

“Alright,” Dean said finally. “I’ll do it.”

 


	66. Chapter 66

**Two weeks later…**

“Shit, Sam. I can’t do this.”

Sam turned face Dean. “You’ve got this. I’ve got you. The worst thing that’s gonna happen today is me telling you that you can’t knot a tie worth shit. Hang on.”

Dean stood still as his younger brother adjusted the necktie. “I’m gonna throw up.”

“Don’t do that. Just remember what I said. Look dad in the eyes while the charges are being read out, don’t shy away. Be strong.”

Dean took a deep breath as Michael walked up to them both.

“John’s here,” the lawyer said quietly. “His lawyer said he’s calm and you have nothing to worry about.”

“I can’t do this,” Dean repeated. “It’s dad!”

Sam looked pointedly at Dean’s wrist, which was now in a full cast ever since the swelling had gone down enough to allow one. 

Michael looked at Sam. “Give us a second, will you?”

“Yeah, of course.” He walked away with a worried expression.

“Dean? I think it’s about time you tell me the real reason you don’t want to go through with this. I think this whole ‘but it’s dad’ diatribe is bull. Are you afraid of him?”

“No!”

“Then what’s the problem? Old man breaks your wrist, it’s battery. And you have proof that it’s directly affected your employment and ability to perform your duties. When was the last time you played your violin?”

“You don’t understand. You’ve never sued your own damned father!”

“Are you sure of that?” Michael responded quietly.

Dean looked askance at him. “Wait. Have you?”

“Yes. So did Castiel. I’m not going to go into details.”

“For what?”

“I just said I’m not going into details. Anyway, we both lost so it doesn’t matter. You won’t, though. Not with security cameras. Let me fix your tie.”

“Sam just...never mind. Go ahead.”

Dean was still again. Sam was over in the corner of the waiting room, chatting quietly with Bela Talbot. 

“Sam,” Dean called. “Come here.”

Sam nodded to Bela, then walked over. “What?”

“So I’m doing this for you, and if you don’t fucking show me some respect after today, like you promised, we’re gonna have a serious problem.”

Sam froze. “What the hell, Dean?”

Michael stepped in between the two of them. “Calm down, Dean. Sam, back off. I said back off!”

Sam walked angrily and breathing heavily. 

“Dean,” Michael warned. “Knock it off. You’re acting like a thug. That’s not going to win you any points in this courtroom. What the hell was that about?”

Dean didn’t want to admit what it was about. That he’d quietly asked Castiel if Sam really had sent him a text saying he wouldn’t respect him unless he pressed charges.

Castiel had simply handed over his phone so Dean could read the text thread himself. There was zero mention of such respect, or of their dad, or the charges. It was then he knew his brother had manipulated him _again_ , which he had slightly suspected all along. But he didn’t know what to do about it. He certainly didn’t give away to Castiel that he had been played. If he confronted Sam, they would viciously fight. If he kept quiet, he might actually earn some damned respect from his brother for the first time. Something he had craved for over a decade.

So he kept quiet, and tried to manage it on his own.

The family therapy was helping more than either of them wanted to admit, although there were no big breakthroughs yet. In fact, the past two weeks had been an unusually peaceful and semi-happy interlude between the two hot-headed sons of John Winchester. Sam had been kept busy picking music for the trio with Castiel and Gabriel, while Dean opted out of any artistic decisions in favor of taking on more students in order to avoid spending more time with Sam. Gabriel had even admonished him harshly for logging too much overtime.

Running full speed ahead wouldn’t last forever, though. Dean had already realized he couldn’t just forget the lie, nor could he hold in his indignation about Sam’s trick for very long. It was definitely going to escape his lips at any moment. Probably at the worst time possible. Like right now.

“Fucking Sam,” Dean muttered under his breath. 

“Alright,” Michael responded after a moment of shock, “you two need to let this wait until tomorrow. If you’re not unified in this courtroom-”

“Stay out of my family’s business,” Dean growled.

“Dean, I’m helping you sue your own dad. I’m _literally_ your family’s business right now, and if you don’t tell me what the fuck is going on, you’re gonna have to get new counsel,” Michael threatened angrily. “Talk.”

“Get your hands off me.”

Dean pushed Michael’s hands away and advanced towards his brother. 

“Sam? You and me, outside. _Now_.”

“Why?”

Dean made a beeline for the door. Sam followed, as he knew he would.

“Dean, what the hell’s gotten into you?”

“You tricked me into this, Sam! You never told Castiel you wouldn’t respect me if I didn’t press charges. He showed me the messages. You just made that shit up. That’s all kinds of fucked up, you know that?”

“Dean-”

“Shut up. I’m still doing this for you, anyway. Because you’re my brother. I’d rather dad come after me than you any day. You said a few weeks ago I never helped you. Well, I’m helping you now, big time, and you’d better fucking appreciate it. And you better fucking respect me for it.”

Sam had tears in his eyes as he gulped back a huge lump in his throat.

“Nothing to say, huh?” Dean sputtered. “How fucking typical.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam whispered. “But can we just... _not_ do this here? Everyone’s watching.”

“You better believe we’re doing this when we get home, then. Fuck you, Sam.”

In his blinding anger Dean stalked back into the lobby through the wrong door, and promptly ended up face to face with John Winchester.


	67. Chapter 67

Dean nearly gasped out loud when he realized his mistake and was suddenly face to face with his dad.

“Hey, dad. Wish I could say it was nice to see you.”

John looked tired, Dean noted subconsciously. Worn out. Good.

“Well this is awkward,” Dean added.

John looked past him and up, and Dean suddenly felt Sam’s giant, hot hand on his arm.

“Let’s go,” his brother muttered.

Dean ignored him and took one step closer to his dad. “You broke my wrist, asshole.”

John nodded. “Sorry, kiddo. Unintentional. Hope you’re gonna be okay.”

“Dean,” Sam urged with a tug.

“Let me go, Sam, or help me god I’ll-”

Sam released him immediately, and Dean let his threat drop as he turned back to John, whose lawyer was now walking up to get in between them.

“I haven’t been able to work for weeks,” Dean said levelly. How he was so calm, he didn’t know.

“Congrats on the trio,” John said. “I sincerely mean that. I read the press release. Sounds like you guys are gonna be a hit.”

“If I can ever play again, maybe we will. And no doubt you’ll take all the credit for it.”

“You bet your ass I will. Who bought you all your violins, and hundreds of hours of lessons? Drove you around to all your competitions and clinics? Left my fucking job to move you to a city where the arts actually exist?”

Dean was silent.

“Ungrateful brat,” John added sourly.

“I _was_ grateful, until you turned into a bastard.”

“That’s enough,” his lawyer said as he moved between them and faced the brothers. “You two need to leave. Go.”

Dean nodded, and the lawyer moved away.

 _Huge mistake_. Dean seized the opportunity to wind back his arm like a baseball pitcher and lunge at his dad, clocking him solidly on the nose with the leading edge of his cast. John went down like a sack of potatoes and so did Dean, who was thrown off balance by his miscalculated momentum on the slick floor.

The next few moments were a chaotic mess of yelling and grabbing. John scrambled up just as Dean found himself face down on the cold floor, being held in place by a courthouse guard with a firm, painful knee in his back.

John was taken away quickly and Dean watched his feet cross his line of vision before disappearing behind a door. Sam was pinned into a corner by another guard, although he hadn’t done anything. His face was utterly stricken as he watched Dean struggling to physically fight back years of bottled up frustration and anger.

“Cuff him. Take him down to a cell to calm down,” Dean heard a woman say over the roaring in his head. “And get his lawyer.”

Dean was handcuffed quickly and carefully hauled to his feet.

“Settle down and the cuffs’ll come off,” a deep and strangely calming voice ordered firmly. Dean instantly relaxed against the guard’s hold and even leaned against him a little, then tensed up again as his lawyer came around the corner and halted in his tracks at the sight before him.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Michael exclaimed irritably. “What‘s all this?”

“We’re taking him to a cell to cool off,” the woman said as Dean stared at the drops of blood on the floor from his dad’s nose.

“Oh fuck,” he muttered to himself, suddenly realizing the enormity of his actions.

Then he looked at Sam, who had an expression that could be described as nothing less than sheer awe and admiration, mingled with a healthy dose of fear.

“Dude…you just did... _that_.”

“Sure did, Sammy”

Dean winked at his brother as he was hauled into the nearby elevator.

—-

Dean spent three hours uncuffed in a surprisingly comfortable cell by himself. He had no idea if he was going to be arrested, and was alarmed to realize he actually cared if he was. He...yes, he _cared(!)_ about where this might lead, if it would affect his career, and what would happen to him in the long term if he lost his job.

He didn’t regret punching dad at first, though. But then his wrist started to throb so badly that it brought copious tears to his eyes. Anyone else would have asked for medical assistance, but he stayed silent. That was his punishment to himself, he determined. For losing control. _No, fuck that_. This pain was for not losing control sooner. In the safety of his home, perhaps, and years ago. God knows John Winchester deserved it ten times over.

It was another hour before Michael and dad’s lawyer came to visit him. Dean moved over to allow them space on the concrete bench, but they stayed standing.

“Dean,” Michael began gravely, “you have a huge choice to make.”

“Your father won’t press charges against you if you drop your charges against him,” the other man said. “And considering you’re still on probation, you’d better take the deal. Or else you’re looking at about ten months in jail if you’re convicted.”

Dean looked up. “ _Would_ I be convicted?”

“You literally punched him out in front of about ten cameras and half a dozen LEOs. What do _you_ think?”

“I think he’s a coward.”

“He’s in the hospital,” Michael said. “You broke his nose.”

Dean smirked. “Good. Then I made my point. I’ll take the deal.”

“Okay. I’m afraid you still have another reckoning coming. Time to go upstairs.”

——-

Dean was taken into the courtroom in front of the judge he was to have seen in the morning, and for his disruption he was quickly sentenced to ten days in jail for contempt of court. His case against his dad was dismissed at his request, and he was taken without further delay or discussion to county jail.

He wasn’t thrilled about the situation, admittedly, but somehow never felt so peaceful in his entire life as he did when he laid down to sleep that night.


	68. Chapter 68

_Day one..._

Dean met his thin, geeky-looking cellmate shortly after waking up, who boldly told him he was in for aggravated murder before sheepishly admitting hours later to trying to hacking a slot machine. _You can never be too careful,_ he’d said. Dean agreed, then slept most of the day. He woke up with a throbbing wrist and got permission to see the doctor and went through the painful process of getting his wrist x-rayed again. He got a shot for the pain, and some cream to apply to his ankle, where the now-removed monitor strap had created an annoying case of contact dermatitis. That was why he'd slept so well, he suddenly realized. No buzzing.

_Day two…_

Dean was relaxed and almost downright cheerful from being freed of the burden of having to make big decisions on the spot, or deal with a single person who had let him down. It didn’t hurt that he spent most of the day engaged in highly interesting conversations with Kevin about Asian culture, computer hacking, and...anime porn, much to Dean’s amusement.

_Day three..._

It was getting harder not to think about his precarious situation. More difficult to disregard the worries of what was yet to come. He managed it for today, again, but he knew the wall was breaking down once Kevin wasn’t enough of a distraction anymore. The kid was certainly trying his best, though, without ever asking outright what was bothering Dean so much.

_Day four…_

Dean found himself getting in the afternoon lineup for the phone without really knowing who he wanted to talk to. But he needed an update. Needed to know if he still had a job, if he was going home (to Sam’s house, rather) with any kind of prospect before him. Castiel had probably already rehired Benny, and Dean almost secretly hoped he had, without really knowing why he would want such a thing. _God. I’m such a complex, hypocritical mess right now._

When it was finally his turn, he started to dial Sam, but something crazy took hold of him and he dialed his dad instead before he even realized what he was doing.

“Hey. I thought you didn’t pick up unknown numbers. What’s with the policy change?”

“Is this...Dean?”

“Yeah. Guess where I’m calling you from?”

There was a telling pause. “Just so you know, that wasn’t my doing.”

“I know. Jesus, you sound horrible. Like sinus infection of the century.”

Another pause. “A broken nose will do that to you. Why are you calling me?”

“I have no idea,” Dean admitted glumly. 

“Just wanna gloat, huh?”

Dean kept his tone polite; it would do no good whatsoever to further antagonize the man. “I don’t know if it qualifies as gloating, but I’ll say you definitely deserved it and I’ll never apologize. I’m only sorry for not doing it sooner.”

“Fair enough. I suppose we’re even now.”

Not quite. Dean had to swallow three times before responding. “Dad...I just...what the hell are we gonna do? We can’t keep going on like this.’

“I don’t know. I gotta go. I’m tired. Been a long day and had a really shitty hunt.”

Dean felt his eyes stinging. “Wait, dad. Just...whatever I need to do, whatever you want, just tell me, for fuck’s sake. I’ll apologize for anything but your nose.”

He waited, holding his breath, while his dad mulled over the offer.

“You know what you did,” he finally answered. “For a girl. A _fling_.”

Dean closed his eyes in pain. “She wasn’t a _fling._  She was my fiancee. And it wasn’t her fault.”

“Finally we agree on something. After all I did for you, you just threw it all away...you know what, I just can’t do this right now.”

“Wait, dad, don’t go. Please. Fuck!” That last part was uttered in frustration as the line disconnected from John’s end. 

His time wasn’t up and he debated to ask whether he could make another call. The guard standing a few feet away seemed to read his mind and nodded slightly, so Dean discreetly reset the hook and dialed up Sam.

“Dean! Oh my god, I’ve been worried to death about you. Why the fuck haven’t you called me?”

Dean shuddered a little in his jail duds. “You know why.”

“Castiel has been worried sick about you, too. We all are.”

“Wait, what do you mean? Hasn’t he fired me yet?”

“Hell no. Michael and I told him all about what happened and he was super supportive. He’s been on the phone with Bela Talbot a lot. Dude, you’re like a hero around here. Seriously.”

Dean couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “A hero? Are you fucking kidding me, Sam? That was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done in my life!”

“Yeah it totally was, but shit. It was a long time coming.”

Dean closed his eyes. “Fuck, Sam. Don’t tell me that. Don’t mess with my head. You want to talk about something that's been a long time coming? I’m just starting to come to my damned senses for a change. I don’t need to hear that you’re totally okay with me doing shit like that-”

“Alright, sorry,” Sam interrupted hotly. “Jesus, calm down. I already agreed that it was really stupid, you’re right. In the middle of a room full of police. Nice one. I can’t believe you only got ten days.”

“I called him,” Dean blurted quickly, although he had fully intended to keep it to himself.

“And he didn’t tell you he wasn’t firing you?”

“Not Castiel. I mean, I called dad. Right before I called you.”

“Oh. Shit.” Sam fell quiet, and Dean waited in vain for him to say more.

“He brought up Lisa. Well, more specifically, the two years after Lisa left.”

No response.

“Sam?”

“Time’s up,” the guard barked out, not rudely, and the line went dead. Dean went numb as he was escorted back in line to return to his cell.


	69. Chapter 69

_Day five..._

Kevin was released early in the morning due to jail overcrowding, much to Dean’s profound regret. His new cellmate refused to say what he was in for, so Dean left him alone. He then buried himself in the books he had gotten from the library, devouring all three “Hunger Games” titles just in time for lights out. 

_Day six…_

Dean’s quiet cellmate suddenly spoke up after they had returned from breakfast, and introduced himself as Alex. He looked like a child, Dean noted disapprovingly.

“Sorry I haven’t said much,” he said quietly. “Nothing against you.”

“No offense taken,” Dean responded mildly.

“I’m 22, in case you’re wondering. Good genes.”

“Ah,” Dean said carefully. “Same age as my brother. But he looks 40. Lucky you.”

“I set my father's house on fire,” Alex said nonchalantly as he made himself comfortable on his bunk. “And I’m not sorry. Burned it straight down to the ground. No one was hurt, though.”

“Whoa,” Dean replied, his adrenaline racing a little. _Fuck, I thought I had daddy issues…_

“Yeah. Just thought I’d get that out there, since you probably recognized me from the news and stuff.”

“No. Haven’t watched the news in weeks,” Dean admitted.

“I thought you said you’ve only been here a few days?”

Dean didn’t feel like explaining. “Yeah. Well, my TV stays off 99% of the time.”

Alex laid down and pulled his blanket over him. He seemed to be shivering. “I hear you. Anyway, I got a year due to mitigating circumstances.”

“Wow, only a year? Good lawyer.”

“Not really. Terrible father. He killed my mom. That’s why I did it.”

“Fuck,” Dean gasped. “I’m so sorry. Jesus.”

“He was driving drunk and she was a passenger. He came out with barely a scratch, of course. Isn’t that how it always goes?”

Dean was suddenly infinitely glad that he hadn’t mentioned his own DUI. He’d have to tread carefully with this one; he seemed to be simmering dangerously under the surface despite his youthful, innocent demeanor. Dean was almost sorry the kid had actually opened his mouth, after all.

“Sorry to hear that. I lost my mom when I was four.” _To a house fire_ , but he didn’t say it. Not to an arsonist who was in jail for burning down a house, for fuck’s sake.

“What happened?”

“Car accident. Her fault.”

“Sorry. Are you actually reading that book?”

Dean looked down at his table. “Yeah, I took up meditation a few weeks ago. This wasn’t the book I used, but it’s close. Have you tried it?”

“Yes. Doesn’t work. Can’t shut my brain off.”

“Neither could I at first. Helps to do it after a shower.”

“Thanks. I’m going to take a nap.”

Alex fell asleep within the next minute or so, and Dean was left sitting there awkwardly, still wanting to talk, just not with Alex. He missed Kevin, and deeply regretted the lost opportunity to open up to him. He’d seemed non-judgemental and cool. 

The call for the phone line went out a few minutes later, but he didn’t move. All he did was replay in his head every conversation he’d ever had with his dad about Lisa. There were plenty to keep him occupied all night.

_Day seven..._

Dean read two more books in the morning, then dozed off briefly before suddenly waking up into a state of near-panic. Alex stood up quickly. “Dean. Are you alright?”

“I’m good,” Dean gasped. 

“You’re sweating like crazy.”

“I’m fine.” He had been dreaming about Alex brutally shanking him as he lay in his cot, but he wasn’t about to admit that. “Just...a little...need to breathe.”

“They’re about to send us to the yard. Fresh air should help.”

Dean laid back down, then stood up again as three guards appeared at their cell door.

“Dean Winchester,” said one of them. “You have a visitor.”

_Fuck, not now._

“Who?”

“Don’t know. Come with us, you can decide downstairs whether to accept or not.” 

They again ordered Alex to the back wall and opened the door. Once they were downstairs, he quickly learned his visitor was Michael. He accepted and was eventually led into a room with open tables. So much for the whole “talk through phones behind glass” cliche he always saw in the movies.

He shakily sat down at the table with his equally gloomy lawyer.

“You okay, Dean?”

“I’m good. Staying out of trouble.”

“Yes, I know. That’s why they allowed me to visit. I don’t have any news. Just checking on you.”

“Did Castiel send you?”

“I offered. He’s in Beijing, but he couldn’t have come anyway even if he was here.”

Dean nodded his understanding.

“Look, we’re all worried sick for you. I know Sam told you that you’re not fired, but I thought it would help if you heard it directly from me.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you?”

Dean looked up questioningly. 

Michael smiled a little. “Sorry, didn’t expect to hear that. Thought you’d fight me on that one. Tell me you don’t deserve it and all.”

“That would be too predictable, wouldn’t it?”

“I suppose so. Look, Dean, we...no one’s mad at you. We get it, and once you’re back, this is never going to come up again.”

Dean hesitated. “I’m...I just don’t want to be admired for what I did. It was wrong and I’m paying the price, willingly. Sam seems to think I’m some kind of hero.”

“Well, your dad is quite the bastard. Must admit I got some satisfaction out of it, myself.”

“Don’t say that,” Dean snapped. “Nobody talks shit about my dad except me and Sam. Period.”

Michael recoiled a little. “My apologies. Anyway. Castiel wants you back to work on Tuesday at 8am. I tried to get you an extra day off after being released, but you know how he is.”

Dean nodded, suddenly glad Castiel was like that; it would give him less time to mope around.

“I’ll be there. Thank you.”


	70. Chapter 70

_Day 8…_

Another trip to the infirmary to check his wrist. The doctor was efficient, but cold, no desire for small talk. Not that she could be blamed for that. Dean had learned pretty quickly how smooth-talking and charming his fellow prisoners could be. It must be exhausting. He didn’t take it personally, and thanks to a thumbs-up on the x-ray, he was clear-headed and calm when he got back in line for the phone.

“Hey dad.”

“Hey. How you doing?”

“Surprisingly well. I guess maybe you were right that a year here could do me some good.”

John cleared his throat roughly. “That was a little harsh on my part. I’m surprised, though. I thought with the overcrowding you’d be out by now.”

“If I wasn’t on probation, yeah. Oh. My cellmate is an arsonist, so that’s awesome. Burned down his dad’s house. Says he was on the news.”

“Oh, that guy. He’s nuts. Don’t get any bright ideas from him, please.”

Dean almost laughed, but he stopped himself. House fires were not a joking matter in this family, so he was surprised his dad would say such a thing. “Where are you?”

“Heading over to see Sam.”

Prickles of alarm rose all along Dean’s arms and neck. “Why?”

“He needs to sign a few things related to my will. Not that I have much, but I don’t want you boys fighting over it if something happens to me.”

“I wouldn’t do that!”

“This isn’t about trusting you. It’s about protecting you. Sam absolutely would hog it all for himself.”

Dean grimaced at the ugly truth to that statement. “Yeah. Look, I don’t have much time. Just wanted to tell you I’ve done a lot of thinking in the last five days, and...you were right. I did throw everything away after Lisa and I broke up. I get why you’re mad now. Why you shut me out. You spiralled the same way after mom died, and you had to watch me do it, too. Because I wouldn’t learn from your mistakes.”

There was a brief silence from John, then a deep breath. “Close, but no cigar. You shut _me_ out for more than two fucking years. Not the other way around. I tried so hard, Dean. I really did. It was impossible to get through to you because you were so wrapped up in that fling of yours.”

Dean tried his best to keep his tone polite despite his instant annoyance. “Her name was Lisa and she was supposed to be my wife. We were supposed to have children together. Please don’t call her ‘that fling’ again.”

“Point taken. Lisa, then.”

“So just one question. Even when I got sober, you just...you never came around. Kept calling me useless and all that shit. Making me feel like scum. Then you got violent. I just...I don’t get it. Why, dad?”

“Because you never stopped drinking. You only learned to hide it better. I know that for a _fact_ , so don’t lie to me again. You can’t deny all the names you’d call me when you were drunk. The texts that you never mentioned sending, that you would erase from my phone when I wasn’t looking. You stopped going out with your friends, so they’d call me to make sure you were still alive. Then...when you got that second DUI, I…I finally gave up. Accepted that I failed you as a father. The third DUI barely even registered, to be honest. I knew it was coming; the only surprise was that it took so long.”

Dean was silent. He rested his forehead on the cool metal of the payphone-like structure and shut his eyes against the tears that were threatening to escape.

“ _Fuck_. This is so messed up,” John said quietly. “You had so much potential. Everything at your fingertips at one point, and you just…I mean, I’m glad you’ve got the trio now, but...”

Dean wiped his eyes, feeling absurdly self-conscious about the guard watching him. “I gotta go, dad. My time’s up. I hear you, but I need to think some more.”

“I’ll be in Nevada for a few weeks. Probably not much cell signal, but I’ll call you when I can. How about next Saturday?”

“Yeah. That works. Thanks.”

Dean hung up the receiver before he could say anything more awkward, and quickly wiped his dripping nose and eyes on his sleeve.

“Time up,” the guard said automatically.

“I know I went over,” Dean said with a grateful nod. “Sorry. And thank you.”

\----------

_Day 9…_

Dean decided to call Castiel, but he didn’t pick up. The guard on duty wasn’t the usual guy, and he dismissed Dean from the line immediately.

“But, I didn’t get through-”

“What part of ‘you get one call’ don’t you understand?” he barked, and Dean shriveled a little in embarrassment as the other men in line smirked at him.

“Sorry, I just…”

“Hang up the fucking phone or you’re getting a DA.” Disciplinary action. Dean glared for a fraction of a second, then set the receiver on the hook and returned to the mark on the floor where he had to stand to wait for permission to leave. He was utterly humiliated, but there was nothing that could be done. He crossed his arms and hugged himself tightly, missing his old apartment, missing his 5th grade students, and even missing Charlie. 

_Fuck. One more day, Dean. You can do this._

_\--------_

_Day 10…._

Dean was released at 9am on the dot, just as scheduled. He even got a farewell hug from Alex, whom he had strangely warmed up to in the past 24 hours. The kid had serious problems, sure, but he was smart as hell and knew exactly what he wanted in life. Dean appreciated that, and maybe even envied it a little.

He walked into the lobby and spotted Sam standing next to Bela Talbot, who was holding his ankle monitor.

“Oh, fuck,” Dean sighed resignedly.


	71. Chapter 71

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: please recall I warned quite a ways back that this story is very dark at times.

Sam was quiet on the way to his house while Dean fussed around with his ankle monitor and grumbled for a while. The only saving grace was that Bela had put it on the opposite leg once she saw the red ring of rash from the previous placement. But now Dean had to get used to it all over again, and it was like having it on for the very first time. 

“This fucking thing.”

“Sorry,” Sam murmured quietly. “Um, Dean. I just...you’re okay, right? Nothing happened? Like, fights or anything like that?”

“Nah. I’m good. The worst thing that happened was the food. I need a decent meal.”

“Where do you want to go?”

Dean glanced sideways at his brother, who sighed and corrected himself. “I’m sorry. Tell me what you want to eat and I’ll go out and get it for you.”

“Thanks, Sam. Appreciate it, but you’ve been through enough trouble today already. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m hungry too, Dean. It’s no big deal. Astroburger?”

“For breakfast? Sure. Why not. Sounds good.”

Sam was quiet again for a few minutes, then asked, “How’s your wrist?”

“It’s good. I need to get the cast off in two weeks. Can’t wait.”

“That one looks new.”

“It is. I had it replaced a few days ago. The other one cracked after I popped dad in the face.”

Sam hesitated. “That was impressive. Never knew you could throw such a brutal punch left-handed.”

“Me either. But the angle I was at, it was either that or nothing. He tell you I called him?”

“You told me you called him and he mentioned Lisa, but we got cut off after that.”

“No, I mean after that. The second call. Right before he came over to have you sign stuff.”

Sam nodded. “Right. Yeah, he said you were doing good and that was it. Have to admit I’m a little jealous you called him twice, and me only once.”

“Well, I’m still pissed at you for the...you know. The whole lying about the texts thing.”

“I know. I’ll make it up to you.”

Dean resisted the urge to scoff. “How about you just don’t ever do it again? That’ll be enough for me.”

“Yeah. That too. Can we come back to that later? I need to talk to you about Castiel.”

The way Sam said that sounded uncomfortably ominous, and Dean sank back into his chair a little. “Oh no. What?”

“We’ve been practicing the trio music with Gabriel on violin while you recover from your wrist thing. He’s been making me do like, _hours_ of technical training with his cello pro. Hours. Per day. I’m seriously starting to redline.”

“Is it helping?”

“Well, yeah, but that’s not the point,” Sam said quickly. “He’s going to do the same for you when you return to your violin. No more teaching. Full time playing. I just want you to be prepared, that’s all. He’s been a bit...tyrannical, I guess you could say. I’ve been fined four times this week alone for really minor stuff. Making a joke during rehearsal, coming back not even a minute late from a break. My point is, I’m really worried about you having opted into that caning clause.”

Dean took a deep breath, then counted to ten as he let it out. “Gotcha. Thanks for the heads-up. I think I’ll be alright.”

“I hope so. Just...with your temper, and all. You know? I feel like you’re never gonna be able to sit down for the next four months. Please be careful.”

“I will, Sam.”

“Okay, good. Now that I’ve said that, we need to call him because he wants to meet with you today. I told him you needed rest, and that-”

“It’s okay, I’ll meet with him. Call him.”

Sam dialed into the bluetooth function in his car and placed the call.

“Hello, Sam.”

“Mr. Novak, I have Dean in my car and we’re headed to my house. He said he’ll meet with you today. What time are you available?”

BOOP BOOP. Another call was coming with a 775 area code.

“Three o’clock is all I have open. It’s either that or-” BOOP BOOP

“I’m sorry, say again? 3pm or what? You got cut off.”

Another ill-timed BOOP BOOP covered Castiel’s answer.

“3pm is fine, sir,” Dean said, cracking a slight smile. “Thank you.”

“See you then.” Castiel hung up. 

BOOP BOOP

“What area code is 775?”

“I dunno.” Dean shrugged.

Sam hit the green button.

“Sam Winchester.”

“Mr. Winchester? Nye County Sheriff’s Office calling. Are you related to John Winchester?”

Sam pulled the car over into the Astro Burger parking lot. “Uh, yes sir. I’m his son. Sorry, where is Nye County?”

“Nevada. West and north of Las Vegas.”

Dean looked at Sam, his eyes wide. “Dad’s there,” he whispered.

Sam nodded. “My brother Dean is here with me. Is everything alright?”

“Not really, son. Not ideal to call you over the phone to tell you this, but I know you’re not anywhere close to us to come in person. Are you in a place where you can talk for a couple minutes?”

“Yes, sir. Pulled over into a parking lot a few blocks from home. Please tell me what’s going on.”

“Okay, why don’t you drive home and call me back when you’re inside. Really don’t want to give you this news when you’re not in a safe spot.”

“Yes, sir. Can you just...can you stay on the line?” Sam peeled out of the parking lot and back onto the street. “It will be literally two minutes, that’s all. I don’t want to lose you. Please.”

“Sure.”

Sam glanced at Dean before he made his left turn.

“Breathe, Dean. It’s alright.”

“No it’s not. Sam. I’m freaking out.”

They pulled in the driveway and Sam lied, “Okay, we’re inside now. Go ahead.”

“Okay. Boys, your dad's in my jail. He killed three men last night in a bar fight in Pahrump."


	72. Chapter 72

“I’m here in Pahrump, Dean. Just parked and going in now. He may not agree to visit with me, so just be prepared.”

Dean was pacing laps around the pool.

“What took you so fucking long to call me? I’ve been going crazy.”

“No signal for hours. This place is in the middle of freakin’ nowhere. I had to drive through Death Valley. Can you please just stay calm? If you’re not flipping out, I won’t flip out.”

Dean took a deep breath. “Yeah. Sorry. What did you tell Castiel?”   


“Nothing. I already had today off, remember? Besides, you’re the boss now.”

“Fuck. I have to leave in like two minutes to meet with him. What should I do?”

There was no answer, just a long, stuttering stream of static.

“Sam?”

“Sorry, hang ---. ---- move back ---- one bar. Okay. Dean, look...you need to make that decision. You’re the big brother here.”

Dean scoffed. “Oh, nice cop-out, Sam! Seriously?”

“It’s not ---------. I mean ----. What do you think we ------ do?”

“If I knew that, would I be asking you?”

“Of course you would. But if ------ trust you to fig----------support-------”

“Sam?”

_ Call failed. _

Dean called him back four times, to no avail. He debated whether or not to call the police station but had no idea where to get the number, and then he heard the honk of the taxi out front.

_ Fuck! _

\----------

“I promise there’s no need to be so nervous, Dean,” Castiel said as he led him into a conference room on a separate floor, presumably for privacy’s sake.

“Sorry. Just...I was in county jail this morning, eating mass-prepared crap food and being told if and when I could piss, and now I’m here talking to Castiel Novak about going on an all-expenses paid world tour as his star musician. Head is spinning a little.”

Castiel smiled thinly. “At least if you can maintain your sense of humor about it, not all is lost. Besides, I didn’t bring you here to talk about the tour.”

“Oh.”

“Sit down. I want to talk about your wrist first. See if you can give me an idea when you’ll be able to play again. And don’t even think about underestimating the time you’ll need to heal. I purposely built in far too much rehearsal time in order to allow for unexpected things to happen, which they always do.”

“Well, this was definitely unexpected,” Dean grumbled. “Even for my sorry ass.”

Castiel cocked his head and narrowed his eyes slightly. “I think a more formal conversational tone might be in order here. We are talking business, after all.”

Dean sat up straighter, taking the well-intended rebuke to heart.

“I’m sorry. Of course. Well, the last doctor said it should come off in two weeks. Apparently the bone that broke is lower down and shouldn’t affect my wrist rotation. But until it’s off, we won’t know how long it will take to rehab. I think the maximum was three weeks.”

Castiel nodded. “Well, that’s good news. You’ll continue teaching in the meantime, and sitting in on the trio rehearsals in order to take notes and learn your music in advance.”

“Yes, sir.”

Castiel took a drink of water and pulled out his notes. “Your brother has been doing well, except for being unusually careless about his time management. You’ll need to break him of that.”

Dean cleared his throat. “Yes, about that. We never really talked about my position yet, since I felt it wasn’t really my place to question it while we were negotiating.”

“That’s exactly when you  _ should _ have questioned it, actually. But that’s what you’re going to do now, right?”

“No. I’m more curious than anything else, about what led you to put me in charge of him, I mean. I thought we would both be equal. Please understand that I’m not complaining.”

“You’re not going to like my answer.”

Dean nodded.

“I don’t have time to deal with him for all the miniscule things. I’ve been trying very hard to stop micromanaging my musicians. It’s not efficient. There are plenty of tasks you can take over, such as scheduling his training and making sure he reads and initials all the feedback notes from our new artistic director. Making sure he knows his schedule, and that he’s on time.”

“That’s perfectly reasonable,” Dean replied agreeably. “Why wouldn’t I like that answer?”

“Because there’s more to it. I feel like you’ve never had the opportunity to actually be a big brother to Sam, and I wanted to give you that somehow.”

Dean fought back his rising irritation with effort and clamped his mouth shut.

“I knew you wouldn’t like it,” Castiel continued, “so let’s take it out of the equation. Even if you weren’t related, I would have done it anyway. I really do need to take some things off my plate. My schedule is exhausting, to put it mildly. I’ve been tasking Gabriel with a lot of...never mind, that’s another story.”

Dean’s mind briefly wandered back to Sam’s situation in Pahrump. Wondering what the fuck dad was telling him. Wondering how the fuck to tell Castiel that his cellist won’t be in tomorrow.

“I can handle it. I’ve managed entire classrooms of overly entitled 10-year olds. Sam sometimes acts like one of them...sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You’re not wrong,” Castiel said with another thin smile. “I’m afraid I’ve been a bit hard on him lately.”

“He mentioned it,” Dean replied carefully.

“You both need a firm hand, but you already know that.”

“Yes. That’s why I didn’t balk at the new rider.”

Castiel crossed his arms. “Is there anything I can do to put you more at ease right now? You’re acting and speaking calmly, but your body language is concerning me.”

“I…”

“What’s wrong?”

Dean gulped. “I’m worried.”

“About what, specifically? Something I said, besides the brother thing?”

“No, it’s not you. Um. Actually....I’m sorry to ask. But could I use your phone for a moment?”


	73. Chapter 73

Dean called seven times, but Sam never picked up. That could be a good thing; perhaps he was visiting with dad at this very moment. The what-ifs were driving Dean crazy, though, and he had been gone too long. Castiel was going to come looking for him and demand to know what was going on. He called one more time out of sheer despair. Sam picked up immediately.

“Sam Winchester.”

“Thank god. It’s me. What’d he say, did you meet with him?”

“Dean, what the hell? Aren’t you in a meeting with-”

“That’s not important. Come on Sam! Talk to me.”

Sam sighed. “We spoke for only a minute. My first question of course was about who they were. They were human. Three men, unrelated, that’s all he’d say. Then I asked if he was acting in self-defense, and he said yes. But Dean, he was...he was lying. I think he just lost his temper.”

“But he’s gonna claim self-defense anyway, right?” Dean spun around when the door opened and Castiel peeked in.

“Yeah, but will they buy it? I don’t know.”

“Hang on, Sam.” Dean covered up the receiver with a shaking hand. “May I have just one more minute, please? Sorry.”

Castiel backed out of the room without comment.

“What in the holy fuck am I going to tell Castiel?” he spit into the phone.

“I’m driving home now. Not staying overnight. So whatever you tell him...I don’t know. I really don’t. My biggest concern is this getting out in the news and linking us to him. Talk about shitty PR.”

“Fuck, I didn’t even think of that,” Dean groaned. “I was only worried about you not coming to work for a few days.”

“Well, that’s not the case now. So maybe you can wait. And don’t bother talking to Michael, he’s not licensed to practice in Nevada.”

“Okay. Did dad say anything else at all?”

“He said he could handle himself and not to worry. He was upbeat, and seemed proud of himself. It was so weird, Dean. I don’t know what to make of it.”

“Okay. Drive safely. I gotta get back to this meeting. Be careful. I love you, Sam.”

“Love you too, Dean. We’ll get through this. He ---- -- --- ----- in order to --- ----

The line disconnected after a few more seconds of silence.

\---

“I’m so sorry, sir,” Dean said as he retook his seat. “I was calling Sam to get an update on a situation with our dad. Now that I know how serious it is, I need to tell you what’s going on before we proceed any further.”

Castiel nodded, and Dean could swear he went a little pale, too.

Dean launched straight into it before he could lose his nerve. “He was arrested last night for killing three people at a bar. He claimed it was in self-defense, and knowing him, it absolutely was. He probably was defending someone else, too. My concern is that this will get in the news and result in bad PR for you. If you want to let us go in advance of that, we’ll understand, but we’ll want severance pay if that’s what you choose to do.”

Castiel was speechless.

Dean flushed. “I didn’t mean to be so straightforward, I’m sorry. But that’s the situation, and I didn’t want to beat around the bush about it.”

“Uh...sorry, I’m just taking this in. Need a minute.”

“Of course. Can I go make some coffee?”

“Please. Do you mind bringing me some as well?”

“Not at all.” Dean got up and went downstairs to the little staff kitchen, where he ran into Gabriel. The man seemed to always be in the kitchen, and Dean often wondered if he ever actually sat at his desk to do his job.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Dean said politely as he pulled out a bag of coffee beans. 

“Welcome back,” Gabriel replied, a little stiffly.

“Thank you.”

“Two cups, huh? Are you that sleepy, or did Cas add coffeewalla to your job description?”

Dean glanced aside at him. “Coffee what?”

“I just got back from India. They’re called coffeewallas there, instead of baristas.”

 _Smug bastard._ “I haven’t been to India.”

“You will. In April.”

 _Or maybe not,_ Dean thought to himself. 

“So. How was jail?”

“None of your business,” Dean replied mildly as he studiously watched the dripping coffee.

“Wow. Just wanted to know if you’re okay.”

“Then you should have asked that. Does Castiel take cream?”

“Yes. Too much, in my opinion. Guess it appears your attitude hasn’t changed much since I’ve seen you last. That’s too bad.”

Dean poured two packets of cream into one of the cups while he selected from a variety of colorful responses sitting on the edge of his tongue. _No. Fuck. Control yourself. You’re better than this. Better than him. Try something new._

“I’m working on that. Crap, I made way too much coffee. Want some?”

Gabriel reached down into the cupboard for a cup, and Dean picked the pot back up and carefully poured it for him. 

“Thanks.”

“What, no tip for your coffeewalla?” Dean replied with a slight smirk.

“No cash on me.” Gabriel met his eyes at last. “My apologies for trying to provoke you. I’m working on that, too. See you around.”

He left. Dean put the pot in the sink and turned to go, but remembered that Castiel had once sent a scathing memo to all employees about leaving dirty dishes in the sink. So he meticulously washed the pot and put it back, humming to himself the whole time.

\----------

 _“The sins of the father shall not be visited upon the sons,”_ Castiel said as Dean handed him the coffee. “I’m actually insulted that you think I’d release you and Sam for this.”

Dean squirmed a little. “No offense intended, sir. At all. I just...we’d understand if you did.”

“I won’t. Let’s drink our coffee and go over a couple more things, and then I’ll drive you home.”

 


	74. Chapter 74

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. I know Cas is unlikable and unfair here. I know he doesn’t give a shit for aftercare. He will get better. Please don't hate me.

“Dean, I heard you walked out of your first technique class today. Not even halfway through. Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t need to re-learn my scales. It was insulting. I’ve been playing for twenty years.”

Castiel’s voice was tight. “I told you she was going to start at the very basics for the first round. I like all my musicians trained the same way-”

“Understood. But I’m not twelve.”

“Then don’t act like it. Did you discuss this particular concern with Jody, or did you just throw a fit?”

Dean looked away and didn’t answer. Castiel already knew, that’s why he had summoned him.

Castiel crossed his arms. “Disrupting practice is a serious offense. Not to mention you embarrassed yourself in front of your alternate. Do you need to consult your contract to refresh your memory about what’s going to happen next?”

Dean shook his head. He’d already been fined twice this week for minor slip-ups, but this was a much bigger deal. He felt his ass tense up automatically.

“Sir, I’m…I don’t need to relearn my basic skills. I don’t like this, and you told me I could come to you if I disagreed with any part of my experience here.”

“You’re exactly right. But that’s not what you actually did. You disrespected Jody, ran off, and then tried to stall when I called you here to talk about it. Unless I’m mistaken, that is. Am I?”

“No.”

“Okay. Then you’re getting the cane, unless you wish to revoke your consent and terminate your contract.”

“No, of course not,” Dean breathed deeply and looked at the clock. “I...it’s just-”

“I know, it’s almost three o’clock. We’ll do it afterwards. And then we’ll talk about the training itself and see if we can compromise. I don’t want you to be unhappy.”

“Thank you.”

“Go ahead.”

Dean walked past Castiel and into his secondary office that was used for VIP visitors. The phone was already ringing and he had to make a mad dash to pick it up.

“Novak Arts Center,” he said quickly. 

“Hey.”

 _Relief_. “Hey, dad.”

“Staying out of trouble today?”

“Of course.”

“Sure. How goes your first week back on violin?”

“It’s good. Wrist is gonna be fine. Dad...Novak is such a trip. Outside of rehearsal he’s great. Concerned, thoughtful, generous. But the moment we sit down behind our music, he’s like Captain Bligh. He fined me for _laughing_ when Sam kept hitting B flat in a D major piece.”

“Laughing? Jesus. Well, the guy’s paying you enough not to laugh for about the next fifty years, so you better zip it. I remember my piano teacher rapping me over the knuckles with a ruler. Boy howdy. How that pissed me off. Made me a better player, though.”

“Hmm. Yeah. Castiel has some...interesting techniques.”

John laughed. “Yeah. Sam told me about the caning. You doing okay otherwise? Personally, I mean?”

Dean felt his cheeks turn instantly red. “I guess. I don’t know. I mean...definitely feeling more peaceful. Less prone to panic. The programs and the therapy are helping.”

“Good. Look kiddo, I know you and I have a whole cargo ship full of baggage between us, and we haven’t unloaded any of it yet. It would probably be healthy to do that soon, but I don’t want to. At least not over the phone.”

Dean didn’t answer. He didn’t want to talk about it _ever_ , jail or not, in person or by phone, or even on his deathbed. 

“Anyway, Dean, I guess what I’m trying to say is that I know we have a long road ahead of us. A lot of anger to be reconciled. And we’ll get there. Just know for now that I love you and want you to succeed.”

_So tell me I will succeed._

_Say I deserve to succeed._

_That I’m good enough to succeed._

_Any word of approval will do._

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“You know I sold Charlie, right?”

Silence.

“No, actually. Why the fuck would you do that?”

Dean flinched. “I...I’m playing a Guadagnini now. From 1779. It’s amazing. Charlie wasn’t cutting it, unfortunately.”

“Novak actually thought you were good enough for an instrument like that? He’s nuts.”

_Fuck. Of course you would say that._

“I’m working on getting good enough,” Dean replied evenly.

“Well, good luck with that. Shit, my five minutes is up already. That was fast. I’ll talk to you the day after tomorrow, right?”

“Yep. Bye, dad.” The three of them had agreed that John would alternate between his sons for his daily calls. Dean hung up, then gloomily returned to the main office. 

“Come in, Dean.” Castiel waved his hand but didn’t look up. “Go wait for me in the storage room.”

Dean swallowed hard as he walked into the brightly lit but depressing room off to the side. Castiel came in only a few seconds behind him.

“Do you still consent to this punishment?” he asked quietly. “I think two is appropriate.”

Dean nodded. “Yes, sir. What I did was wrong, and I’m very sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Apology accepted. Your call didn’t go well, did it?”

The change of subject threw Dean completely off. “What?”

Castiel took a step closer. “The fire in your eyes is gone. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.”

“Or maybe I just don’t want to get my ass beat,” Dean retorted defensively.

“Now it’s three. Turn around.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Dean turned around and put his hands on the wall. The three stripes fell so fast that he didn’t have time to jump away in between them, like he had last time. But they hurt, and his hands immediately tried to rub the sting out.

“Ow. _Fuck_...”

“Trio rehearsal in twenty minutes. Get your music and go to the concert hall.”

Castiel left. Dean pressed his forehead against the wall and took deep, rattling breaths to help steady himself. Then he calmly wiped his tears away and went to get his music.


	75. Chapter 75

Dean didn’t ask to sit down for rehearsal this time. He was just gonna do it, and keep fighting back the urge to run off and go find a pool to jump into. It fucking _hurt_ , but he was determined not to utter a single iota of protest so that Sam wouldn’t tease him again. That would be far worse than getting caned in the first place.

Castiel wasn’t at his piano when Dean walked in with his instrument, however, but Sam was. Naturally he picked up on Dean’s disarray; it was stupid to think he wouldn’t notice. 

“Hey Sam.”

“Hey. How was the call? I’m guessing it wasn’t good, based on your…”

“My what?”

Dean sat down hard on purpose; Sam would definitely notice if he was doing it gingerly. Unfortunately that backfired and he jumped back up again with a hiss that he couldn’t hold back.

“Fuck!”

“You...are you okay?”

Dean glared at his sibling in the way only siblings could do without it resulting in pistols at dawn.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

Sam looked hurt, but he said nothing and continued to put his music in order.

“Castiel took out the Brahms,” Dean said after a few moments, so Sam pulled it out and set it aside.

“Thanks.”

Castiel was late, which was highly unusual...in fact, unprecedented. The brothers sat there and stared at their music stands for several minutes and idly plucked out passages on their strings until the silence became too uncomfortable to manage. 

“Are you okay, Dean?” Sam asked again, carefully.

Dean sighed internally in relief. He hadn’t wanted to be the first one to give in, but he did feel really bad for barking at Sam.

“Not here,” he said quietly, with a significant glance at the microphones that hovered over both of them.

“Right. Gotcha.”

“Sorry I snapped at you.”

“It’s ok. As long as you’re-”

“I’m fine.”

Dean felt calmer now that he was settled and the lines of fire had died down into a mere smolder. He recalled Sam’s warning a few weeks ago, when he said Dean would regret opting in to the caning clause. The truth was, he didn’t regret it. He wasn’t remotely upset with Castiel. He only regretted his own actions, his having done something stupid enough to warrant the action.

He was glad Castiel had stuck to his guns and done exactly what he said he was going to do. Dad had always preferred to keep his boys worried about their fate and get them all worked up, taking a long time to make his decision in order to maximize the effect.

Dean hated caning, yes, but he’d always preferred physical anguish over mental anguish. Sam was just the opposite, which is why he had reacted so poorly to his one single stripe that he had gotten. Like a ten-foot-tall colicky baby, Dean thought with a slight pang of amusement. 

“What’s so funny?” Sam asked in confusion, and Dean got serious again instantly.

“Nothing. Where’s Castiel?”

“I don’t know.”

They stood up quickly as the door opened and Gabriel walked in.

“You boys are supposed to be in the rehearsal room.”

Dean cleared his throat. “But Castiel told me to come to the concert hall.”

“Me too, sir,” said Sam.

Gabriel stopped in his tracks. “Oh.”

Castiel himself then appeared, holding a printout of his Outlook calendar.

“Who made this schedule?” he asked harshly, and all three men shrank back a little.

“Chuck did,” Gabe answered. “Something wrong?”

“Dean and Sam have been working for six hours straight. Not to mention the location for this rehearsal is wrong. Gentlemen, take half an hour break. Gabriel, send Chuck to my office.”

 _Oh shit_ , Sam mouthed to Dean. They set their instruments down and hightailed it out to the employee cafeteria. When they sat down with food in hand, Sam started to comically speculate about what Castiel was currently saying (or doing) to his frazzled manager.

Dean wasn’t in the mood, though; the booths in the cafeteria were hard as a rock and he could barely concentrate on eating. He looked around to make sure nobody could hear him.

“I got caned, Sam. I deserved it, and I’m fine. So please just talk about something else. Anything else.”

Sam nodded, his face set in a displeased expression. “Alright. What did dad have to say? Any news on his arraignment date?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“So...you’re just gonna keep avoiding the subject? We haven’t talked about it in two weeks.”

Dean shrugged. “What’s there to talk about? Not like I’m ever gonna ask him anything.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to be lied to, Sam. I explained this already. Don’t act like you don’t get it.”

Sam nodded reluctantly. “Fine. But this is what we’re in therapy for. We’ve got to bring it up at some point and get it out of our systems.”

They both froze as Castiel walked up to them. “You two can go home after you’re done eating. I’m not in the mood to rehearse today. Dean, come with me for a second.”

Dean immediately stood up and walked with Castiel just out of Sam’s hearing range. His heart was thudding painfully.

“Sir?”

“You should’ve picked up on the schedule mistake. Not your fault, but as the lead I expect you to pay more attention in the future and fix these things proactively.”

“I did pick up on it. But Chuck said-”

“I don’t care what Chuck said. I’m your boss, not him.”

Dean’s stomach dropped. “Understood.”

Castiel glanced briefly away, then met Dean’s eyes searchingly again. “The news of what John did just got out. I’m getting lots of media inquiries that I need to attend to right now.”

Dean paled. “Shit. I’m so sorry.”

“Also not your fault. But I fully expect you to stay focused as we work through this. See you tomorrow.”

He walked away. Dean ran into the bathroom to throw cold water over his face.


	76. Chapter 76

Dean didn’t want to look at the Google results Sam was pulling up and compiling. He took a shower so long that the water eventually ran cold, and then laid in bed and pouted over Castiel’s unfair directive that he should basically disregard Chuck’s instructions.

_-We’re not supposed to go that long without a break, sir._

_-Well, I can’t rearrange these classes. You’ll live. It’s just one day._

_-But I really think-_

_-You’re not getting paid to think, you’re getting paid to play violin. Go back to work._

So Dean had swallowed his resentment and gone back to work...and as he predicted, Castiel had gone after him for it. This fact annoyed him extremely. He also had a sneaking suspicion that he was being tested, but there was absolutely zero proof for that except for gut instinct. And he knew he had a tendency to lean towards paranoia, although-

“Dean!” Sam called from the living room. Dean dragged his sweats and a t-shirt on and made his way out reluctantly.

“I don’t wanna know, Sam. Seriously.”

Sam’s expression as he studied his laptop’s screen was deadlier than Dean had seen it in recent memory.

“You need to know. Castiel is getting absolutely trashed in the news. I mean, they’re making him out to be a worse villain than dad. It’s crazy. You should see all the vitriol aimed at Novak’s twitter feed.”

Dean swallowed hard. “Castiel is on Twitter? Doesn’t seem the type.”

“Facebook, too. He tweets a lot. Mostly philanthropy stuff, and sometimes while he’s jogging. It’s kinda weird. Anyway, um...look outside.”

“What?”

“Look outside.”

Dean looked out at the pool and saw nothing unusual about it, or about the weather.

“Not that way, dumbass. Towards the street. Just peek through the blinds.”

Dean didn’t move; he suddenly knew exactly what was out there: news trucks.

“What exactly are they mad at Castiel for?” he asked tightly.

Sam hesitated, then took a deep breath. “You.”

“Me.”

“Yeah. Your criminal record got leaked, and...well, come look.”

“No.”

Dean walked back into his room and locked the door, and before he could lose his nerve he picked up the phone to call Castiel’s cell. He fully expected him not to answer and was surprised when he picked up after the third ring.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Mr. Novak...I….”

“Yes?” 

Dean felt faint suddenly. “I don’t even know why I’m calling but, I am, and here I am, and I just found out from Sam what’s going on and...

“Calm down, please,” Castiel interrupted gently. “You’re calling to resign, aren’t you?”

“Uh, yeah. Definitely. I should’ve done it immediately. Before this. I’m so sorry.”

“I reject your resignation.”

Dean furrowed his eyebrows. “What? Why?”

“Because I said so. I’m glad you called. I want to read you my media statement before I send it out.”

Dean was speechless.

“Dean?”

“Yes, sorry. I’m here.”

Castiel began reading, and Dean shook a little as he tried his absolute best to avoid vomiting all over the phone.

——

Sam read the statement aloud from some website or another as Dean finally emerged from his bedroom two hours later.

“Hey! You’re not gonna believe this: _Castiel Novak, CEO of the Novak Arts Center, said: I am aware of the serious allegations against the father of two of my recently hired touring musicians. I am also aware of Dean Winchester’s criminal record and current situation. Novak Arts Center has always strived to provide opportunities to gifted musicians from all walks of life, with all varieties of backgrounds - questionable or not - and has no plans to discontinue this practice in the future. Dean is a valuable member of my team, both for his outstanding musical ability and strength of character in the face of adversity. His offer to resign in order to avoid bad press has been, and will continue to be, unequivocally refused. We look forward to launching our tour in Washington, DC on October 1.”_

Dean was already numb all over, so he had no further reaction to give to the words. “I know _._ He read it to me.”

Sam was dumbfounded. “This is amazing, Dean. Do you have any fucking idea how lucky you are? Holy shit.”

“Lucky. Right. Sam, I just got off the phone with my therapist. I don’t know if I can work through this one. I’m...I’m, like, completely traumatized.”

Sam closed his laptop. “Did you tell him about dad?”

“Her. Yes. And...all this.” He waved his arms around vaguely and sat down in the chair next to his brother. “What are we going to do? What am I going to do? I can’t ever show my fucking face again in public. This is just…I asked Castiel to have the rest of the week off and he refused. Have to be at work at 9:30 AM tomorrow or get fired and sued for violating my contract. Everyone’s going to be staring at me. I’m so pissed right now. I’ve spent the last two hours fighting off the fucking panic attack he gave me.”

Sam swallowed hard. “He didn’t give you shit. Don’t even think of not showing up to work. I will drag you there kicking and screaming if I have to.”

“I’m not going, Sam. Fuck no. Fuck Castiel. No fucking compassion.”

“No compassion? Are you joking? You’re an idiot, and mostly blind to boot. He’s been nothing _but_ compassionate since day one, dumbass. Do I need to read this statement to you again? For fuck’s sake.”

Dean was starting to cry, and Sam immediately toned down his indignation.

“I’m sorry, Dean. Fuck...I don’t know. This is crazy.”

Dean stood up. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Again?”

“Yeah.”

The water wasn’t warm, but... 

_This is how showers are in jail, remember? The only place you’ve ever found peace with yourself._

_Because you belong there. For good._

Dean reached out and turned the water all the way down to the coldest setting, and didn’t flinch away.


	77. Chapter 77

“With respect, sir...it’s unfair that you made me work today. The news vans followed me and Sam all the way from my AA meeting to here. It’s completely humiliating.”

Dean wiped his forehead. No. Too aggressive. 

“It felt unfair to be forced to come to work. I would have preferred to stay home today and…”

_ No...too whiny.  _

“It would have been better if you let me take some time off to think about what...”

Nope. He’d already had ten days “off” for jail, for which Castiel had said exactly zero words in complaint. It was unfair to ask for more.  _ Fuck _ . 

Five minutes until their meeting. He yanked a paper towel off the roll and dampened it to wipe his face, then studied himself in the mirror. He’d only slept two hours and looked like hell. 

“Mr. Novak, I’m upset that you wouldn’t consider my request to lay low and let this blow over.”

Blow over. Right. No, this was going to follow him everywhere.  _ Forever _ . Shit.

He picked up his badge and made his way to Novak’s office as quickly and invisibly as he could. He thought everyone was staring at him, but they weren’t. Nobody knew what he looked like. Yet.

Castiel opened the door, and Dean held back a gasp as he entered the office. Michael, Gabriel, Chuck, and Sam were all there. He felt vaguely betrayed at being ambushed like this, and started to open his mouth to protest before immediately thinking better of it. What was this, an intervention?

“Have a seat, Dean. Just waiting for one more.”

_ Who _ ? Dean wondered idly as he sat. He was as nervous as the proverbial wet cat, and it took an enormous amount of effort to not cross his arms and stare at the floor.

They all waited in silence for a couple minutes until the door opened again. It was Bobby Singer, the man who had sold Dean his practice violin.  _ What the hell? _

Castiel shook his hand and then faced the group.

“Gentlemen, meet our new artistic director. Bobby Singer, former professor of music at UCLA and longtime champion of the arts in public schools.”

Dean darted a glance at Gabriel, who was expressionless.

“Bobby will start with us on Monday,” Castiel continued. “He stopped by to do some paperwork so I thought this would be a good time to do a very quick introduction. Anything you’d like to say?” 

Bobby nodded. “Nice to join you all. Gonna be a great tour. Just a quick background on me. I taught at UCLA for about twenty five years, then ran a touring orchestra that performed for underprivileged kids for a good dozen years before focusing on my longtime violin shop downtown, which I’ll be closing soon thanks to the internet. Dean here was actually one of my last customers. Anyway, that’s about it. I’ll give it back to you, boss.”

“Thank you. I’ll walk you back to HR.”

Michael jumped up; everyone else instantly rose to their feet in response. “I can do that.” 

Castiel shook his head. “No, thanks. If you don’t mind, Dean, can you do it?”

“Of course. This way, Mr. Singer.”

They left, and Bobby asked about the violin. 

“It’s good, sir. I practice on it at home and use it to teach my students. It’s great.”

“Good. I heard about John,” Bobby said carefully. “I just want you to know right here and now that we were friends for many years.”

Dean was stunned. “Why didn’t you mention that when Sam and I were at the shop? You made it sound like you met him once.”

“Let’s just say the friendship ended prematurely when he threatened to kill me. He was a mean drunk. I’ll leave it at that. We don’t ever have to talk about him again unless you want to.”

“A mean drunk? I never saw him drunk. He was sober my whole life.”

“The part you remember, anyway. He ever tell you why he quit?”

“No. Refused to.”

They got into an elevator - alone, thankfully - and Bobby turned to look at him. His eyes were suddenly haunted.

“He was driving drunk with you two in the back. Sam was just a baby. John totaled his car when he ran off the road. He walked to a pay phone and called me to get you home, then had another mutual friend tow the car so the police didn’t go after him. It was close. He broke his arm in two places and couldn’t play violin for a year. You two were unhurt. I don’t think he ever drank another drop.”

Dean shook his head. “No, if Sam was a baby, I was at least four. I should remember that.”

“Ask him, then. Don’t take my word for it. Listen, you’ve got a rough road ahead of you now that this is out in the news.”

“I know. It’s kind of a crazy coincidence that Castiel hired you, of all people. How did that happen?”

“Not a coincidence. I taught him composition at UCLA. That’s how we first met.”

“Oh.”

“He’s an odd one, to put it politely, but the best kind of man there is. He’ll have your back until the day he dies if you treat him right. Don’t fuck this up, Dean.”

Dean froze in his tracks, a new round of anger coursing through his veins. “Wait. Did he...did he ask you to talk to me? Did he put you up to this?”

“Castiel? No. Gabriel did.”

“You know Gabriel, too?”

“Everyone who has ever touched a violin in this town knows Gabriel. Of course I do. Where do you think the Guadagnini came from?”

“Of course it did. Look, I really don’t enjoy being manipulated. It’s one of my least favorite things. So you need to be straightforward with me in the future.”

Bobby smiled a little. “Isn’t that what I’m doing now? Or is  _ don’t fuck this up _ not straightforward enough for you..?”


	78. Chapter 78

_Don’t fuck this up._

“Dean, give me a minute,” Castiel said after Dean had returned, where Gabriel was still inside. He eventually came out, looking pissier than usual. 

“Sir,” Dean greeted with a quick, deferential nod.

“Go in. Stay strong,” Gabriel said quietly as he walked past, and Dean stared after him with a _wtf_? expression. 

“Did you forget how to walk, Dean?” he heard a few seconds later, and his nerves jangled afresh. That harsh tone could only mean he was in trouble; it had never meant anything else. Not with Castiel. He braced himself and walked in the office.

“Good morning, sir. Afternoon, I mean.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Uh...yes, a little.”

“Lets go to the cafeteria to talk. I’m far too pissed off at you right now to do it here without exploding.”

Dean felt dizzy and sick all of a sudden. “What did I do?” he blurted.

“I said we’ll talk there. Let’s go.”

“But...everyone’s going to be looking at me, sir.”

Novak sighed. “Fine. Sit down.”

Dean didn’t move. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“I said _sit down_.”

Dean sat. Holy shit, Castiel was in a mood. No wonder Gabriel had said what he said. 

Castiel went behind his desk and yanked out a notebook and pen. “The parents of all of your students have pulled their kids from lessons with you. Doesn’t matter since you start playing full time next week anyway, but they didn’t know it.”

Dean nodded; he had been fully expecting that. It still hurt, but at least he wasn’t surprised.

“Sir, you should have let me resign.”

“Maybe I should have. Gabriel and I were just reviewing the rehearsal footage from Monday to go over how we are going to stage the projections. You know what we discovered?”

Dean shook his head in confusion; whatever it was seemed incredibly unlikely to have caused him this much anger. 

“You and Sam having a conversation about your wrist. How much it’s still hurting you, and how you don’t want to tell me.”

_Oh, shit…those fucking microphones!_

“I…”

“Don’t apologize. I don’t want to hear it. You explicitly disregarded my instructions not to play until you’re 100% ready. Which means you’ve been lying to me all along every time I’ve asked you if you’re healed, and you’ve possibly extended the time it will take for complete rehabilitation. And that puts the tour at risk. See why I’m ready to explode?”

Dean flushed with shame and fear.

“Furthermore, now you have no students. So you can’t play, and you can’t teach. What am I supposed to do with you for the time being, exactly?”

“I can play, sir-”

Castiel stood up. “Get out, Dean. I’m docking your pay for two weeks, the same amount of time you said you were fine. You’re not to come back until your physical therapist says you can play without risk of re-injury. I want a letter from him saying as much before you ever set foot in this building again.”

Now Dean was standing, too, and he felt himself falling to pieces on the spot. “Sir, please…wait. I…”

“You need to go without another word before I fire you for good this time. I can assure you, I’m absolutely not bluffing.”

“I’m so sorry.”

It was true, his wrist wasn’t healed. He thought he could work through it. But “working through it” was doing exactly the opposite. So he turned to leave, then stopped. _No, fuck this. I’m not going quietly._

“Mr. Novak, my contract says I can appeal any disciplinary decision before it’s carried out. That’s why you always have to ask me if I consent. You didn’t this time.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “And you’re not going to, I take it.”

“No. Not until you give me a chance to defend myself.”

Dean could hardly hear the words that were coming out of his mouth over the pounding of his heart, and he was both horrified and proud of himself at the same time for saying what he was saying. But also scared shitless.

Castiel sat back down. “I’m listening. Thank you for being polite and calm.”

“Uh...you’re welcome. Sir, I wasn’t lying to you because I wanted to hide anything and hurt the tour. I think it’s because I’ve been in denial about how bad it is. Lying to myself. One day it’s great; the next it isn’t. I mean...for fuck’s sake, my _father_ broke my wrist. Give me a break.”

“Language.”

Dean started to lose control of his emotions for a few seconds, but then he dialed it back with effort. “Sorry. Sir, I have nothing without you. I can’t lose this job.”

“I know that. But you violated my trust, Dean. If it happens again, you’re out.”

_Don’t fuck this up._

“That wasn’t my intention. I’m literally fighting for the rest of my life here. Now that dad...and the…you know what, forget it. I consent. Just don’t fire me. _Please_.”

“Don’t lie to me again, and I won’t.”

Dean wiped his eyes, and Castiel softened his tone.

“Dean, I know you’re not used to people caring about you. That you don’t even recognize the signs of people being angry with you precisely _because_ they care about you. That’s what’s happening here. Do you understand?”

“Why? My own dad doesn’t even give a shit.”

“That doesn’t mean nobody else is allowed to, does it?”

Dean shrugged. His nose was running horribly, so Castiel handed him a Kleenex.

“I could have handled this better, Dean. My apologies. I let my anger choose my words. I won’t dock your pay. Rest and do your rehab, and let me know when you’re ready to come back.”

Dean nodded. “Thank you. I don’t...I don’t deserve all this. You, I mean.”

“Then find a way to cope with your good fortune, at the very least. God knows that’s how I get out of bed every morning.”


	79. Chapter 79

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know Castiel is a dick in this. He's under a lot of stress and doesn't handle it well. He'll come around.

Seventeen days. That was the length of time it took before Dean could get a cleared letter from his physical therapist. It felt like 17 years, but at least he had gotten a lot done in the meantime. He finished his anger management course, the AA program, and his passport paperwork, which was mailed out for processing on the day that marked half of his sentence completed. 60 more days...

He hadn’t touched his violin - not even once - and meticulously followed all of the instructions he was given about his wrist. Boredom set in quickly, and Sam’s house soon became absolutely spotless due to all the energy Dean needed to burn off. It felt good.

What didn’t feel good was that Castiel had not called him once, nor returned his call after he gave his return date. Dean felt severely anxious about it, despite the knowledge that he had a job to go back to. There was an overwhelming sense of unfinished business between them; it was impossible to say what their relationship would be like going forward. 

On the 18th day he was ready to go back to work, but Castiel was out for the day and he was told to stay home, his eagerness tempered with the unpleasant sensation of being doused by a bucket of ice water. Days 19 and 20 were the weekend, so he finally returned to Novak Arts Center exactly three weeks after being banished.

And he was a nervous wreck. Sam had been encouraging in the car on the way over, and had managed to cheer Dean up slightly, but the fact that Castiel had not asked for a meeting made Dean nervous. They were going straight into rehearsal at 9am, no holds barred, and the man was an absolute dictator on stage. 

Dean carried his violin and Sam’s cello into the concert hall while Sam went to the bathroom in a rush. As he set them down he spotted Castiel sitting in the dark about halfway back in the many rows of seats. He made an instant decision to pretend not to see him, and carried on with setting up and warming up as though he was alone.

Sam came barreling in a minute later and unzipped his case breathlessly. “Fuck, that was close.”

 _“Sam_. Language.” He inclined his head slightly in Castiel’s direction, but Sam didn’t see the gesture.

“Ha. You should be the last person on earth telling me not to cuss,” Sam responded bitterly.

“Then I’ll tell you,” Castiel said loudly as he got up and moved toward the stage. Sam was keenly embarrassed, much to Dean’s satisfaction. 

“Sorry, sir. Didn’t see you there.”

“Doesn’t matter if you saw me or not. Integrity is doing the right thing when no one is looking. Or in this case, when you think no one is listening.” Castiel had reached the bottom steps now and was climbing up to the stage. “We’ve had this talk before. There won’t be a third time.”

 _Ouch._ Dean didn’t dare look at his brother as they both stood up. Sam thankfully clammed up and didn’t dig himself deeper, but Dean still didn’t trust him. He knew exactly what he must be feeling, and his own sense of satisfaction had vaporized in sympathy.

Castiel sat at the piano and nodded. Dean plopped down and picked up his violin, while Sam continued to unpack his cello.

“Tune,” Castiel commanded.

\---

“Sir?” Dean asked quickly as he was putting the violin in his case after the successful three-hour rehearsal had come to a conclusion. “Do you want to talk to me at all? I have an hour break.”

“I don’t have time,” he answered distractedly while locking the piano lid, then left the concert hall as Dean stared after him.

“Yikes,” Sam murmured.

Dean rolled his wrist around in one direction, then the other. Only a slight pang, but that was normal after three hours of playing even without a broken wrist.

“What’s next on your agenda?” he asked his brother.

“Hour break also. Want to do lunch?”

“Yeah. Shit, Sam. He didn’t say a single word to me in three hours. Still pissed at me, you think?”

Sam shrugged. “No idea. He hasn’t acted like it over the past few weeks.”

“Did he ever mention me?”

“Yeah. All the time. It’s so weird he’s giving you the cold shoulder now.”

Weird or not, that ended up being Dean’s fate for the entire week: sentenced to the status of a non-entity until further notice. Castiel was actively avoiding him, and when they were obliged to speak once for a few seconds, he was polite, but entirely aloof and distracted. 

The following week wasn’t much better, but they finally did have a one-on-one meeting scheduled at the end of the day on Wednesday. Dean was a mess, but made himself calm down just in time for it.

“How is your wrist?” 

“Really good, sir. No issues at all. It gets tired faster, but that’s expected.”

“Your brother’s been late for rehearsal twice and missed a lesson since you’ve been back. I thought you were going to ensure that he minded his responsibilities.”

Dean cringed. “I’m trying my best, sir.”

“ _Trying_ is not good enough. If he’s late again, you and I are going to have a difficult conversation about it. You assured me you could handle the supervisory aspect of this job, so frankly, I’m very disappointed in you for failing me. Again.”

Dean had no idea what to say as he processed the highly unpleasant sensation of dark clouds forming over his head, just like in cartoons. 

“I...yes, sir. I’ll do better,” he croaked anxiously.

“Good. Then we have nothing else to discuss right now. You can go.”

 _Shit_. “But, sir-”

“I said you can go. Feel free to take it as an order rather than a suggestion.”

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but when he saw Castiel’s face he changed his mind and left without a word.


	80. Chapter 80

“Oh my god Sam, I’m going to freakin’ wring your neck the next time Castiel comes after me.”

“What? Why?”

Dean set his violin in the backseat and slammed the door, then yanked open the other door. “Why the fuck are you late for rehearsals? And you missed a lesson? You do know he’s going to take it out of my ass if you don’t get your shit together, right?”

“Stop being a drama queen,” Sam scoffed as he got behind the wheel and put the key in. “He’s not mad about that. He’s still mad about the lying. Like I said he would be.”

“How do you know that? Come on.”

“I’ve been around him a lot longer than you, and I guarantee he’s going to be a colossal dick until you bring it back up and apologize.”

Dean pressed his aching head back against the headrest and sighed. “Fuck. I already did like a month ago! What else does he want from me?”

Sam smiled a little as he pulled away from the curb.

“What’s funny?” Dean demanded. 

“Nothing. You two are such a soap opera. Look, I’m sorry about the me being late thing. I won’t do it again, boss.”

“You’d better not. If I have to get one more look of disapproval from him, my death will be on your hands because I’m going to collapse under the weight of all that disappointment.”

Sam pulled out his phone. “I just got a notification. Dad’s name is in the news again. Can you read it to me?”

“No,” Dean said hurriedly as he pushed away the phone. “I can’t.”

“Nobody’s looking! We’re getting on the freeway, for god’s sake.”

“Don’t care. 49 days left. Not gonna spend ‘em in jail.”

Sam sighed dramatically. “Probably the announcement of his plea. Fine, make me wait. No big deal or anything. How was your call with him today, by the way?”

Silence.

“You missed it again, didn’t you.”

Silence.

“You can’t just _not_ talk to him ever again.”

Dean crossed his arms. He hadn’t told Sam about dad’s offhand comment about being surprised that Dean hadn’t been fired yet, and then jokingly speculating that he must give great blow jobs. Followed by an _I love you, son, so glad you’re doing well._ Dean had scoured Sam’s house and garage afterwards looking for hidden liquor, but found none.

Sam shook his head. “Fine. Don’t talk to him, then. You’re being childish.”

“Just shut up and drive, Sam!”

“I forgot the exit for the clinic.”

“Sepulveda.”

“Fuck, now Michael is calling me. What the hell does he want?”

“Speaking of soap operas, are you still mad at him?”

“Of course.” Sam hit the bluetooth button on the car and politely greeted Michael.

“Sam. You with Dean right now?”

“Yes, he’s in my car. You’re on speaker.”

“Good, good. Listen, none of my business, but not sure if you saw. Your dad just pled not guilty.”

“Ah. That’s why my notifications are going insane.”

“Nope, it’s not that. Someone just leaked all the surveillance video from the bar. It all escalated out of nowhere. It’s very odd.”

Dean and Sam looked at each other knowingly. Those three men were probably family members of some demon or another that John had taken out.

”That is odd,” Sam responded cautiously. “I’m not sure I want to watch the video, but where is it?”

“LiveLeak is where I saw it. From what I can tell he said something, they rushed him to the ground, and he pulled out his gun and popped all of them in like 2 seconds flat. It was over as quickly as it began. Damn. Was he in the army, by any chance?”

“Marines,” Dean answered. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

“Hey Michael,” Sam asked with a mischevious grin, “Do you know why Castiel is so pissed off at Dean right now?”

“Don’t answer that,” Dean said quickly before pressing the disconnect button. “What the fuck was that, Sam? Swear to god, I’m going to have a stroke before this day is over. Wait, what are you doing?”

“I’m getting off the freeway to play that video.”

“Don’t be an idiot. The cops will be on us in five seconds with my stupid monitor.”

Sam sighed in frustration as he veered back out of the exit lane. “God damn it. We’re still 20 minutes from the clinic. Take my phone and look it up.”

“No.”

Sam dropped his phone into his brother’s lap, and Dean squirmed away like it was a live grenade. 

“Fuck you, Sam. You want me to go to jail or something?”

“Oh my god. Fine.” Sam snatched it back. “Take the steering wheel then.”

“I can’t drive either, dumbass.”

“Just make sure I don’t swerve while I look up the video.”

Dean threw up his hands in frustration. “Stop being like this! I only have 49 days and then I can be your chauffeur and google bitch all you want. And don’t ever interfere with me and Michael again. Shit, I can’t trust you with anything, can I?”

“Calm the fuck down. Jesus fucking Christ,” Sam muttered. 

Dean was near tears in anxiety and angst. “Sam,” he said eventually, “you’ve got to work with me. I realize I’m a pain in the ass. I get it. But stop treating me like I’m your enemy, or even worse, your entertainment.”

“And resident drama queen,” Sam retorted blandly.

“I don’t understand. You were kissing my ass for weeks until recently. What changed?”

“Don’t say that.”

“Not saying it doesn’t make it any less true,” Dean fired back. “Dad turned you against me again, didn’t he? I fucking knew it. Don’t listen to him, Sam. You know how he’s always played us against each other since we were little kids.”

Sam was silent, but Dean saw the accusation hit home and seized the opportunity.

“You’re being played like a little bitch,” Dean muttered.

“Shut up, Dean.”

“Little biiiiitch,” Dean sang.

“Shut up.”


	81. Chapter 81

The video was exactly what Michael said it was. No more, no less. Sam and Dean watched it half a dozen times and could glean nothing from it, so Dean angrily told him to leave him at the clinic and that he would take a taxi back home. Then he stormed inside for his last round of physical therapy, his emotions a hurricane of complexity and uselessness.

When he came back out, Sam was sitting in his car at the curb.

“Told you to leave me here. I already called a cab.”

“Get in.”

Dean hesitated. “You should have left.”

“If I’d known you were going to take so damned long, I would have. Get in. Castiel wants us to call him ASAP.”

Dean got in quickly as he saw the taxi rounding the corner.

“Go. I’m afraid to ask what he wants.”

“Don’t be. He said we’ll be pleasantly surprised.” The phone started calling as he pulled away. “I think it’s about time we got some good news around here. How’s your wrist?”

“Good. The x-rays showed no-”

“Castiel Novak.”

“Yes, sir. Sam and Dean here, as requested.”

“Excellent. Please hold.” 

Dean had always been idly amused that the hold music for Novaks Art Center was classic rock music instead of piano or lounge tunes, but today he didn’t notice it. He was too nervous.

“What’s this about?” he asked his brother. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh.”

“Sam?” said the gravelly voice over the speaker.

“Yes, sir?”

“We just got the numbers back for ticket sales for the first two months of the tour. They’re exceeding target so far. That’s not the reason I wanted to talk, though. Dean?”

“Yes, sir?”

“You need to call your parole officer and request permission to travel with me to San Francisco on Thursday. Just a day trip. It’s for an interview with Classical Music magazine. This is huge.”

Dean’s heart stopped. “I can’t travel, sir. There’s no way. Only for the funeral of an immediate family member, and even then they don’t always grant it.”

There was silence on the other line for a few long moments. “Ask anyway. I’ll call Bela myself if I have to.”

Dean already knew the answer was going to be no, and the excitement in Castiel’s voice tortured him to the very core of his being.

“Yes, sir. I’ll go over there personally, right now. Sam-”

“Got it,” Sam said quickly as he changed lanes. 

“Good,” said Castiel. “Call me back.”

“Yes, sir.” Dean pushed the disconnect button. “Call Bela.” He felt utterly dizzy from the deep intake of breath he required to keep on living for the next few minutes.

\------

Just as Dean expected, the answer was an unequivocal _no, absolutely not, don’t even think of trying to get Novak to interfere._ Dean was a picture of gloom and doom as the brothers left the police station, and for once Sam had nothing to say to try to cheer his brother up.

“I’m so fucked, Sam,” Dean moaned as they called Castiel back. “Just drive me to the highest bridge in Los Angeles so I can jump off of it, please.”

“Castiel Novak.”

“The answer was no, sir,” Dean blurted out in agony. “I’m so sorry. I told you that you should have accepted my resignation.”

“That’s what I figured. I’m waiting to see if they’ll travel down to Los Angeles for it. That would be better anyway, because then they can tour the arts center and see what we’re really about. The last interview I did with them pre-dates it. Don’t worry about it, Dean. It’s not the end of the world.”

Dean looked up. Castiel was being...nice to him? He felt the tension in his body drain away suddenly. Not all of it, but enough.

“I’m...still, I’m so sorry. This is so embarrassing.”

“I know. By the way, I’ve changed your schedule for tomorrow and I know you don’t have access to email so I’ll just read it to you. 9am meeting with me, and I’ve pushed our rehearsal to 10am. Sam, you have a meeting with Bobby at 9. He starts tomorrow and will be meeting with you both seperately to go over his expectations and answer your questions. I expect you to be candid and thoughtful. There won’t be a second chance to make a first impression.”

“Yes, sir,” they said together.

“I’ve known Bobby for thirty years and I can guarantee you he’ll be a very good leader. Much better than me.”

“Wait,” said Dean “so I’m not going to report to you anymore?”

“Yes, you will, but not exactly like you are now. We’ll talk more later about that. I want you both to go buy new suits if you don’t already have one, absolute top of the line, for this interview. You can bill the center for them. Can you do it tonight?”

“No sir,” Dean said again, blushing. “Bela just left the office. We can do it tomorrow.”

“I’ll have Chuck clear your afternoon schedules tomorrow so you can go then, so you’re not rushed. See you at 9am, Dean. Sam, see you at 10am.”

“Yes, sir. Goodnight,” the brothers said together. 

\---

“I’ll admit I haven’t been fair to you, Dean,” Castiel said seriously as his meeting with his violinist began. “Seems about time we hashed out what happened between us before you went on your most recent leave. To be honest, I haven’t trusted myself to address it fairly in the past two weeks.”

 _Well I’ll be damned_ , Dean thought to himself. _Sam was right._

Dean nodded; his throat was too closed up for words.

“First I’m going to cane you six times - with your consent, that is - then we’re going to talk about how you can regain my trust, and _then_ I’m going to forgive you and move on. Do you consent?"

“Uh,” Dean sputtered helplessly, his adrenaline racing. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Then let’s go get it over with."


	82. Chapter 82

Dean knew in his heart this wasn’t fair. He knew it in his soul, too. Everything inside him, in fact, pleaded for his lips to issue a protest; for his hands to be raised in a “wait” gesture instead of being planted on the wall **;** for his feet to take him away from this room and even far away from the arts center. 

Everything cried out _injustice_ except his sense of guilt, that is. And it trumped them all. He got into position before Novak had even said a word.

“Turn around, Dean. I’m not ready yet.”

Dean rested his head on his forearms and squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

“Please just get it over with, like you said, sir.” _Before I lose my courage._

“Poor choice of words on my part. Turn around. I won’t ask again.”

“Good, because I’m not moving. Get on with it.”

Castiel sighed. “Fine. We’ll talk like this. Dean, it’s important for you to understand why I’m so upset.”

“I get it, trust me,” Dean mumbled.

“I _can’t_ trust you. That’s the point. This has nothing to do with you breaking your wrist, or being angry at your own shadow, or fighting with your brother, or going to jail, or the embarrassment your dad’s situation is causing me. Forget all that personal baggage. This is strictly between you as my employee, and me as your boss.”

Dean was silent.

“You lied to me, Dean, continuously, over a two-week period.”

“I’m sorry. I explained why.”

“It wasn’t good enough. You’ve potentially done long-term, lasting damage to our relationship. No, not _potential_. It’s absolutely certain that you’ve done irreparable damage. I’ve tried to get over it on my own, but I can’t. So things are going to have to be different from here on out.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir anymore. I’m Castiel from now on. Turn around, Dean.”

This time, Dean complied. His eyes were wet, but he made no move to wipe them.

“You want me to...to…”

“Yes. I’m going to experiment with a much gentler hand than I’ve been giving you, and I want to apologize for not trying it sooner. You’re not going to like me saying this, but I don’t think your family’s ‘tough love’ approach is working at all. Nor do I think it ever worked. Would you disagree?”

Dean was too confused to reply right away; he just kind of stared in incomprehension and wrung his hands a little. Castiel cocked his head slightly. 

“The moment we walk out of this room, I want you to stop thinking of me as a dictator and more like a colleague. It will probably be difficult for both of us, but I don’t actually care, because what we’re doing now definitely isn’t going to work for even one more day. Literally nothing could be worse than where we are right now. Do you understand?”

Dean nodded, but his heart had long seized up at the thought of addressing this man by his first name. It would be like calling the president of the United States by a nickname.

“Do you have anything to say before you pay the penance for your lying?”

“No. Just...thank you for...for believing in me. I mean, if you still do, that is.”

“If I didn’t, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. What is it, exactly, that makes you think you’re not worth keeping around?”

Dean wiped his face with both hands and struggled to regulate his breathing. “Everything, I guess? What makes _you_ think I’m worth keeping around? Besides the whole marketing thing.”

“I’ve said it before. I have compassion, and you have potential. You’re not quite there yet, but I know you’ll get there. I _know_ you’ll succeed. You just need some kind of breakthrough to give you the confidence you so desperately need.”

“You mean like a compliment every once in a while?” Dean blurted, then he blushed as he realized what he’d said. 

Castiel shrugged. “I don’t really see the point, since you always sabotage yourself the moment you start to do well. There are times I think even a mild word of approval from me will send you into another downward spiral.”

Dean couldn’t argue with that; his own therapist said he had the worst case of imposter syndrome he’d ever seen. They were still working on it daily, but so far not much she’d said had clicked with Dean. He preferred to hate himself, generally. 

“Well, sir, that’s something I’ll have to work on.”

Castiel gave him _that_ look, and Dean amended his statement. 

“I mean, Ca...Castiel. Wow, that’s weird to say.”

“As I said, it will take both of us some getting used to. But I’m willing to try if you are.”

Dean nodded. “Yes, sir. I mean…”

“It’s alright,” Castiel said as his eye rested on the cane that was lying on the table. “One thing I’m not willing to do is go easy on your discipline. Even if I compliment you a hundred times a day, you need to do what I tell you, exactly how I tell you, and when and where I tell you. That’s not going to change. Are we agreed?”

“Yeah, I...it’s what I need. When my dad stopped disciplining me I was seventeen and things went out of control really fast. I still haven’t really recovered.”

Castiel took in a deep breath. “That doesn’t surprise me. I don’t exactly have the experience to be a father figure, but I was hoping maybe Bobby Singer could fill that role. At least emotionally. He cares a lot about you. I had no idea he was so close to your father at one time. He said he used to babysit you and Sam.”

“Yeah, he told us. We don’t remember-“ Dean stopped talking abruptly as Castiel calmly picked up the cane.

“That part of the discussion is settled, then. Let’s move on. Hands on the wall, please, and stay still.”


	83. Chapter 83

“Just a refresher as to why we’re here, Dean. I gave you every chance in the world to tell me the truth, and you didn’t take any of them. You knew I wasn’t going to hold it against you if you couldn’t play.”

“No, I didn’t know that. I mean, I know _now_ , but…”

Castiel shook his head. “Sorry Dean, but no. There is no excuse for lying, end of story. Your contract says it, I’ve said it, you agreed to it. I told you your job wasn’t in danger. And you _still_ lied, outright, and put everything in peril. Not even fudging the truth, but a blatant-”

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” Dean said quickly. He turned around and put his hands on the wall. “Geez. I thought you said you were trying to take a gentler approach?”

“After today, yes. Mouthing off to me doesn’t help your case at all, by the way.”

Dean buried his head in his forearms again, his body as taut as a bronze statue. “Sorry.”

“It’ll hurt less if you relax.”

“Easy for you to say.”

Castiel put the cane down on the table with a sigh. “Okay, you’re obviously not in the right frame of mind to accept correction at the moment. All that will be accomplished is you finding another reason to hate me. We’ll come back to this.”

“What? I don’t hate you!”

“Glad to hear.  Let’s see how the rest of our discussion goes. Back to my office, please.”

——-

Turned out waiting several hours was far worse for Dean than just getting over with and gritting his way through rehearsal with a sore ass. Knowing what was coming three hours away meant hopeless distraction. Dean got lost twice in a piece he had played a dozen times, totally forgot what key he was in on another, and broke his E-string less than an hour in, a clear indication that he had been playing with far too much pressure and tension for his very expensive instrument.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he blurted as he reached into his case for a new string.

He could barely rip the packet open as his boss’s bright blue eyes restlessly settled on him yet again.

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Not really. Hot in here. Kind of dizzy,” Dean admitted as he attempted the string a fourth time, and finally succeeded. 

“Dude, it’s freezing in here,” Sam put in worriedly, displacing his trademark forehead wrinkles. 

“Quiet, Sam. Dean, take some deep breaths and relax,” Novak said quietly. “You’re all tensed up and it's really coming through in your performance. Do you need a break?”

“Yes, please. Just to get some water.”

Castiel closed the piano lid. “Thirty minutes, gentlemen.”

Dean was surprised; Castiel had never once before called for an early break, nor called for thirty minutes, and he had certainly never asked his musicians if they needed one.

“Dean, go wait for me in my office,” he added mildly as he stood up.

 _Oh, shit_. 

—-

Dean was on the verge of sobbing by the third stripe. “Please stop,” he pleaded before the fourth one could fall, but he still didn’t move from his position. It had taken a Herculean amount of strength to keep his feet planted on one spot so far.

“Just three more,” Castiel said quietly. “You’re doing well.”

“No, I’m not,” Dean gulped desperately as he reached back to make sure his ass was still where it belonged, and preferably not on fire. “ _Stop._ Please.”

“Pausing. Let me know when you’re ready for the rest.”

Slowly Dean straightened up, every movement excruciating, but his tone was level and polite despite his defiance. “I just...it’s too much all at once. Fuck, you have a strong arm.”

“Language.”

“Sorry.”

They were silent for a minute while Dean gathered his wits and slowed his heart down to a reasonable pace.

“Can we do the other three later?” he finally asked.

“No, I’m going to finish it and get it over with so you don’t continue making a mess of our rehearsal. We both know you’ll concentrate better after this.”

Fair point. Dean took a moment to wipe his eyes before reluctantly complying. 

 _Four._  He let out a string of oaths, but Castiel didn’t complain.

 _Five._ His body jerked and he stepped away involuntary, but immediately moved back into place. So much for holding back those tears, too.

 _Six._ Relief washed over him like a warm shower. Of lava.

“Done,” Castiel said blandly as he set the cane down and started to leave.

“Wait!” called Dean through his tears as he stood up.

“What?”

Dean took a deep, heaving breath. “It’s not fair for...for you to just _leave_ like that. Without saying anything.”

Castiel cocked his head a little. “Not sure what you mean.”

“I don’t know. _Fuck._ Act like a human being. Say I’m forgiven, for starters? I need some closure here.”

“Don’t raise your voice at me.”

Dean took a painful, angry step forward. “You wanna know why punishment always worked for me as a kid? Because dad always forgave me afterwards. Unconditionally, then he never mentioned it again. So this? does _not_ work for me. At all.”

Castiel blinked in surprise. “I understand. Dean, I have forgiven you for lying to me and I’ll never bring it up again. I mean it. Are you alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. You have 25 minutes before we continue the Corelli. By the way, I really loved the way you phrased those arpeggios. It was brilliant, never heard anything like it. Keep doing that, okay?”

Dean nodded in surprise, then smiled a little at the unexpected compliment.

“That’s the first time you’ve praised my playing since my audition, sir. Castiel.”

Castiel looked concerned. “Hmmm. Don’t make me regret it and there will be a lot more where that came from. You’re a wonderful musician when you put your mind to it. Even better than Gabriel, but don’t tell him I said that. See you in 25 minutes.”


	84. Chapter 84

Dean was already fifteen minutes late returning to the rehearsal hall, but it was either that or come back in a sobbing hot mess. Castiel’s unexpected compliments had warmed him up for about thirty seconds, but then…

_You got fired for drinking in a classroom full of fifth graders. How pathetic._

Yep, there it was, the old enemy rising anew. Worry about dad’s situation had taken over temporarily and pushed it to the back of his mind. But now that dad’s trial was two days away, and it looked increasingly like he would be acquitted, Dean’s mind had wandered back to his ugly past again. 

_You don’t deserve $100,000 and a percentage of the profits._

The pain across his ass - and especially the one area of his upper thighs that had taken the brunt of the fifth lash - were small grievances in comparison to the torture his own mind created for him. He spent almost half an hour in Castiel’s enormous private restroom (with his blessing) crying literally every last drop of water he could get out of his system, then he’d spent another ten minutes fighting off the urge to go run out in the street in front of a bus.

_Fuck, I’m so messed up!_

He looked up in alarm when there was a knock on the door. He wasn’t ready to go back yet, or to talk to anyone. Castiel had no doubt come back to rebuke him, or sent Sam. He said nothing and hoped the intruder would go away, but the door opened suddenly and Dean stood up painfully.

“Sorry, I’m coming out,” he said quickly, not even in the right frame of mind to be embarrassed when his visitor stepped in the bathroom with him. “Castiel said I could use his restroom,” Dean blurted defensively.

“I know. Here.” Bobby handed him a bottle of water and a bottle of ibuprofen. Dean tore open the bottle and quickly downed three of the large pills.

“I...I think the dosage is two,” Bobby observed sheepishly as Dean pondered downing a fourth one, then changed his mind.

“It’s actually one. Nice first impression I’m making here, huh?” Dean said idly as he screwed the cap back on and handed it back. “Thank you.”

“ _First_ impression? I used to change your diapers, kiddo.”

Now Dean felt an embarrassment in his chest so keenly painful that it made the fire in his backside pale in comparison.

“Oh my god,” he moaned as he turned to bury his face in a damp paper towel. “Please don’t ever say that again, like, _ever._  This is fucking awkward. I just...”

Bobby smiled a little, but made sure Dean didn’t hear the amusement in his voice. “Just what?”

Dean didn’t respond, and Bobby took a seat on the bench next to the closet.

“Dean, part of the reason Cas hired me was because I care about you boys. That’s never changed, even after your dad and I threatened to kill each other over some damned woman or another.  You do know Cas has pretty much zero ability to empathize with anyone, right?”

“That’s not true,” Dean responded firmly. “He’s...look, I really don’t want to talk right now. Sorry.”

“Then you better talk to me,” Castiel said from the doorway. Both men swung their heads around to look at him. “Thanks Bobby. I’ve got this, lack of empathy notwithstanding.”

Bobby paled, then flushed. “I’m sorry, boss.”

Dean straightened up and composed himself as Castiel grunted and beckoned him back into the office. _Thank god_ , Dean thought wryly as he nodded awkwardly at Bobby. _I’m not the only one who embarrasses myself around here..._

“Yes, sir?” Dean asked politely with a slight sniff from residual snot. “Castiel, I mean. Sorry. Can’t get used to that.”

Castiel took a deep breath. “Are you coming back to rehearsal, or not?”

“Yes, I was just on my way back when Bobby...no, I wasn’t. Sorry. But I was thinking about it.”

“Thinking about it?” Castiel parroted. “What does that mean?”

“Not that I wa-wasn’t g-going to,” Dean stuttered. “Look, sir. I...I know you forgave me. But I asked you to. If you had just done it on your own, I might have believed you. That’s all. I’m really not in a good place right now. I’m so sorry.”

“I can see that,” Castiel observed stiffly. 

“It’s not you, I swear,” Dean added rapidly. “I’m not upset about the caning at all. I’m mad at myself for that, and I deserved it and everything.. But it’s just...afterwards. You were right about me not taking compliments well. You shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Okay. This is beyond my ability to understand. Call your therapist right now without delay. I’m excusing you from the rest of your duties until noon.”

Dean zipped up his hoodie and shoved his hands into his pockets. “She’s on vacation. And I’m fine. Actually ready to go back to rehearsal, if that’s okay.”

“Well, then...good,” Castiel said after a moment, then he stepped aside and gestured towards the door. “After you.”

“Thank you.”

They walked together in silence, then Dean paused at the door to the concert hall. “You do realize I can blackmail you now, right?”

“What..?”

“You said I’m better than Gabriel.” Dean smirked, with an accompanying wink. “I’m sure he would be thrilled to hear that. Guess you’d better be nice to me and not shirk on the whole _gentler approach_ thing. Or else I’m telling.”

Castiel shrugged. “Nice try, but he’s the one who told me that. Why do you think he’s so jealous of you?”

Dean blinked. “Oh. Wow. But, you said not to tell him?”

“An attempt at humor that obviously fell flat, as usual. No empathy and no comedic timing, but at least I’m a good judge of people. And you’re going to be fine. Let’s get back to work, please.”

Castiel pushed the door open, and Dean suddenly felt his heart lift a little.


	85. Chapter 85

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By popular demand I have increased the length of my chapters and they will now be 3,000 words. Cheers, love you all, thanks for reading xoxo

“You lied to me yesterday. Again.”

Dean stared at the ceiling listlessly and shifted the phone to his other ear. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You told me your therapist is on vacation. Turns out her assistant called my office yesterday to inquire about an overdue bill, and she mentioned that she’d like to have it paid before her boss left for vacation. In a week.”

Dean felt his body race with adrenaline, and was suddenly glad he was laying in bed and not facing his boss in person. “Oh. Crap.”

“Did you make a mistake, or did you lie?”

“I just...didn’t even think about it, she mentioned vacationing soon so…”

Castiel didn’t need to ask any further questions; he already knew from Dean’s reaction (though he couldn’t see the color rushing his face) that his hunch was correct. That Dean had lied instinctively. Automatically. Not out of a sense of malice, but a deep-seated, unshakeable need for self-preservation that defied common sense. But still...

“Alright,” Castiel said quietly. “I’m going to ask you a yes or no question. Answer it honestly no matter what you think the consequences are.”

Dean took a deep breath. “Yes, I lied. I’m sorry, it just...I didn’t want to talk to her, and...guess I’m used to just saying things to get out of things. I didn’t...sorry. It sounds like I’m trying to make up an excuse.”

“You are.”

Dean clamped his mouth shut. He was so tired, very sore, and too exasperated at himself to be scared of what Castiel would do. He couldn’t muster up the energy to give a shit, at least not at 6:15am.

“Dean?”

“Yes, I’m here. Sorry, struggling to wake up.”

“The interview with Classical Music magazine is today.”

“I know. Sam is out picking up our suits from the tailor.”

Castiel cleared his throat roughly. “I’m going to cut you out of it and dock your pay for two days, but I still expect you to come to work today and keep yourself busy.”

Dean struggled to sit up, but the pain in his backside wholly prevented him and he flopped back down. “Wait, what? Sir.”

“Bobby mentioned he could use some help with the music library. Apparently since my assistant left it’s been fairly neglected and is in need of some re-cataloging.”

Dean shook his head and absurdly wished he would wake up out of this bad dream.

“But...I thought you flew them down here because I couldn’t go up there?”

“Yes I did. And it was very expensive to do so, not to mention we almost lost the chance altogether to get this story. A story you won’t be in now. Something for you to think about. See you tomorrow.”

He hung up, and Dean’s heart felt about to implode in his suffocatingly heavy chest. Without hesitation he called Castiel back, and wasn’t surprised when he was immediately sent to voicemail.

“Goddamn it!” he blurted out loud as he ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

——

Dean was on his knees on the floor of the little library, deeply absorbed in sorting all the parts for Shostakovich’s “Festive Overture,” when Castiel, Sam, and the camera crew arrived without warning. He leaped to his feet and apologized for the mess, which wasn’t necessary at all considering he was just doing the job he’d been asked to do.

“That’s fine, leave everything there,” Castiel said as he studied all the different parts carefully stacked in various piles. “The whole point of this tour is to show we actually do a lot of work here and not just put on galas twice a year. Step aside, please.”

Dean moved back towards the door and exchanged glances with Sam, who looked like a dapper FBI agent in his new suit.

“Wow, you look nice.”

“Yeah. Thanks for talking me out of the navy blue-”

“Quiet, please,” said Castiel, and Dean let out a resigned sigh as he stepped back to make himself invisible by squishing into the corner.

There was about ten minutes of wrangling back and forth with the crew about where to put the camera, what to say, how to light the space and more. Dean watched silently and gloomily, his arms crossed, as his brother and boss stood on their marks and joked with each other.

 _Joked_. Yes, hard to believe, but Castiel Novak was actually joking and being playful with Sam, and neither one of them were paying any attention whatsoever to a suddenly jealous Dean. Being put in the penalty box like this, so to speak, was an enormous fall from grace that Dean found hard to swallow, so he finally let himself out of the room when no one was looking and wandered over to Bobby’s office.

“Hey kiddo, you can’t be done already?” Bobby said as he moved a file box to the floor.

“No, Castiel's in there doing his thing. I'll go back in a few.”

Bobby stood up with a groan. “Since you’re here, help me move this credenza under the other window. Tried to move the damned thing by myself and just about threw out my damned back.”

“There’s a big facilities team here for that,” Dean said even as he moved to help. “Castiel’s gonna be mad that you hurt yourself.”

“Then I won’t tell him, will I?"

Dean positioned himself to lift the cabinet, then smiled a little despite the lightning strikes of pain that jolted him with every inch of movement. "It must be weird, huh? Him being your boss when he used to be your student, I mean."

Bobby grunted again. "Couple more feet this way. Cas is an old soul. I knew from the moment we met that he'd outpace me pretty quick. But to answer your question, yeah, it's weird. I'm used to saying whatever I want, you know? Those glares he gives are something else. A few more inches, then push it back against the wall."

"Ow," Dean said aloud as he lifted again. "You said he hired you because of the connection to me and Sam?"

"Not _because_ of you, idjit. I got in on my own merit, thank you very much. But it didn't hurt my case any. Is this thing centered?"

Dean walked across the room and studied the placement. "Perfect. Sorry, I didn't mean to be presumptuous. That is what you said, though, just so you know."

"You know what I meant. Get yourself a bottle of water and hand me one, too. How's the filing coming?"

"A bit tedious," Dean admitted as he reached into the little refrigerator, "but it's keeping me out of trouble at least. I'm making a complete list of all the missing parts, as you asked, but it’s not many."

Bobby took the water and sat on the edge of his desk. "Mind telling me why you got ousted from the interview?"

Dean looked at him in surprise just as he started to take a sip. "You don't know?"

"Nope. I think I should, though. It's not good to have secrets around here. Can't deal with shit if you don't know there's shit that needs dealing with."

Dean had a strange feeling course through his chest and limbs suddenly, one that he eventually recognized as the first seeds of affection. For now, though, it was more of a warning sign which he took very seriously. Getting close to people was never a good idea, because he would inevitably do something to screw everything up.

"Well, I...I lied to him."

"What? Again?"

"Yeah." Dean blushed a little and turned towards the door. "I should go back. They'll probably be done by now."

Bobby shook his head sadly. "Kiddo, you're a hot mess. Don't go down the same path your dad did, please."

Dean stopped in his tracks. "What? What path?"

"Oh, you know, the _I-can't-accept-my-own-emotions-so-I'm-gonna-become-a-total-jackass_ path. That."

"He...wow. Okay."

"Just tell me what happened. Not gonna judge you, we all got our flaws. You should hear about some of the things I've done in my life."

Dean toyed with the hem of his shirt as he tried to decide whether to feel affronted by the directness of Bobby's manner, or comforted by it. He chose the former.

"Okay, I just...not to be rude, but you think you know me and you don't. I was what, four, when you last saw me?"

"26. I saw it when you came to buy your violin from me. The way you spoke to your brother was just like how John spoke to me sometimes. Your mannerisms, too. Very like him."

"We...Sam and I were having a fight on the way to your shop."

"No shit."

"I shouldn’t have carried it on in front of you. Sorry. We're not always like that," Dean protested.

"Right," Bobby answered skeptically. "And I'm Cleopatra's housemaid. So what'd you lie about this time?"

Dean was set back on his heels by Bobby's refusal to back off, by the bemused tone, by the sparkle in his eye even as he ran his hands across his beard in confusion. The man was just... _way_ too likable, somehow?

"I'm sorry, but I'd rather not rehash it," Dean lied. No, he absolutely did want to rehash the hell out of it. He wanted to tell Bobby everything. Absolutely everything, right now, no holds barred.

Bobby sighed again and turned to go sit at desk. "Fine. I wanted to hear the story from you directly, rather than Cas. He tends to exaggerate sometimes. Now I guess I'll never know what really happened. That's alright, I don't wanna know anyway."

"Reverse psychology," Dean observed with a smirk. "Nice try."

Bobby grinned. "Damn. You got me."

Dean chuckled, then looked out the window and watched the sun moved behind a cloud for a few moments. His mood darkened accordingly, and he suddenly made up his mind to spill the beans.

"I told him my therapist was on vacation when he ordered me to talk to her. Unfortunately for me, I got caught by a poorly-timed phone call from her office."

Bobby nodded. "Cas would never check if you were telling the truth, so that's doubly bad. I've always told him that his biggest flaw was being too trusting. No wonder he was so pissed. How are you going to make up for it?"

"I can't," Dean shrugged. "I just...it’s who I am. I lie. About everything. I even told my dad and Sam I was sober for two and half years when every damned night I was buying a six pack. It's become so automatic that I don't even know I'm doing it anymore. You don’t even want to know how my engagement ended, trust me.”

Bobby said nothing yet. Dean threw a glance at him and saw no judgement in his expression, just as promised.

"Anyway, Bobby, you're right. I'm a jackass, just like my dad. I tried to talk Castiel out of hiring me so many times, but he insisted. So here I am, for better or worse."

"He insisted because he thought you were the best person for the job at the time. I know he has doubts about your commitment to it, since he's told me a few things, but...if you still don't want to be here yourself, that's a huge problem that you need to tell him about."

"No, I do want to be here," Dean insisted. "I really do."

"Then maybe act like it?" Bobby suggested with a shrug. "Look, I don't spill secrets and neither does Cas. But I'll tell you one thing for your own good, as much as I hate to. He confided in me last night that he regrets keeping you on."

Dean looked at him askance. "No he doesn't. That's not true."

"It absolutely is, kiddo. But you know what? He'll never tell _you_ that, and he won’t act on it. He made his decision, and he's going to see it through no matter what, because Cas never, _ever_ admits that he made a mistake. The closest thing he'll ever say to that is that he regrets doing something. Which he did."

Dean moved towards the door again, the heat in his face suddenly becoming incredibly uncomfortable.

"He told me otherwise...and he said..." Dean sputtered helplessly. "So he lied. Great. Does that mean you also think he's made a mistake?"

"Doesn't matter what I think, and besides, I haven't seen you play yet. Let me ask you one question, though, and then this little interrogation session can end. Have you ever done anything - even just ONE thing - to make him feel like he made the right decision with you?"

"Of course!" Dean retorted hotly. "I...I...when we...the arpeggios...the..."

_Fuck._

_Double fuck._

_Triple fuck._

He hadn't done anything right, had he? Not a single fucking thing to boast about.

Bobby inclined his head slightly. "I thought so. You have to make a choice, kiddo. Make him proud, or let someone else get the chance to make him proud."

Dean was silent, and he could feel his blood going ice cold again. He was unable to speak for a minute or two as he realized what a total fucktard he’d been lately.

"Have you talked to John lately?" Bobby asked gently after a very long silence.

Dean shook his head. "No, he...he made a comment that really pissed me off, so I keep missing his calls. On purpose."

"Did you tell him it pissed you off?"

"No."

Bobby let that subject drop; he'd already hit Dean hard enough as it was with some painful facts.

"I want you to know I'd never tell you anything for the purpose of hurting your feelings. Even when you were four, you wanted things given to you straight, no messing around. Took your spankings and lectures like a man and learned from them and didn't hold grudges. You were an old soul, just like Cas. Always trying to improve. I'm hoping you haven't changed much in that department."

Dean looked at the floor. “I thought I hadn’t. Fuck. This is…I’m sorry, can I go?”

“Of course.”

Dean pulled open the door and noticed his hands were tingly and numb from his anxiety. “Thank you for the talk,” he said before he ducked out and made a mad dash to the library. Castiel was just coming out to the hallway, with Sam close behind, and Dean hurried to catch up with them.

“How’s everything going?” he asked Castiel quietly, although his voice was trembling.

Castiel ignored the question. “When you’re done in the library, if you have time, go over to Gabriel and offer to help him replenish the string inventory. We just got a new shipment in.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean murmured, a little crestfallen at the thought of more menial tasks in place of the chance of a lifetime to interview with the magazine he’d been subscribed to since he was 7. Sam didn’t even stop to talk to him, and Dean was obliged to hold open the door for all of the camera equipment and crew making their way through to their next stop.

Then they were gone, and Dean had the library to himself again. He sighed, sat on the floor, and cringed as the enormity of the situation hit hard. He picked up the unsorted stack of music, but couldn’t really read anything due to his suddenly blurry vision.

_Fuck…_

Then he wiped his eyes and began sifting through again. He stopped abruptly on a first alto sax part that had a handwritten scrawl on the top in pencil: _The only person who thinks you’re not good enough to play this part is you! Play loud. You’ve got this. -CN_

Castiel’s writing, a message to some fortunate teenager who’d made him proud. Dean had been instructed by Bobby to erase any pencil marks on these expensive, original sheets of music, but he hesitated when he picked up the eraser. Then he remembered the Xerox machine in the corner, so he got to his feet again and made a copy for himself and slipped it into his pocket before getting back to work. Sorting the rest of the music took so long that he wasn’t finished by the time Sam returned to get him and drive him home.

“How’d the interview go?” Dean asked quietly as he carefully separated the first and second violin parts for the Light Cavalry Overture into two large, unwieldy piles.

Sam sighed. “Stressful. I’ll tell you about it on the way home. You ready?”

Dean sat back on his heels a little bit and resisted the urge to stretch yet again. “I haven’t finished this yet. You guys coming in here threw me off schedule.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “It can’t wait until tomorrow?”

“Yeah, but…” Dean shrugged. “I don’t want it to. I said I would finish today. Any chance you could give me like just one more hour? Maybe go get some dinner or something across the street, I’ll treat you.”

Sam set his briefcase down. “I’ll help you. Hand me a stack.”

Dean looked at him askance, then nodded and reached over to grab the Mahler Symphony. “This one’s huge. You sure you’re up for this? It’s kinda tedious.”

“Yeah. I’m not hungry yet, anyway.”

“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean said warmly. “I really appreciate it.”

They were quiet as they worked; each lost in thought about how different their days had been from each other. Almost like they had two separate jobs altogether now _. Like a janitor and a professor_ , Dean mused idly. An hour later they were done, and Sam looked down at his brother with his trademark ‘forehead of concern.’

“I don’t want to bring it up, but…are you and Castiel gonna be okay, Dean? I’m really worried this time.”

“Me too,” Dean admitted quietly. “But I’m going to do everything I can to fix this. Promise.”


	86. Chapter 86

Approaching Castiel with a promise to make things right turned out to be a precariously tricky endeavour that Dean hadn’t quite figured out how to accomplish. It was critical that he didn’t give away the little blurb Bobby had told him about Castiel regretting keeping Dean. There was nothing more in the world that Dean wanted right now besides the trust of both men, and he certainly didn’t want them not to trust each other.

It was Friday, the day after his exile from the interview, and Castiel had politely turned down Dean’s request to meet with the explanation that he didn’t have any time. It was true; his calendar was packed back-to-back from 8am to 6pm, but Dean couldn’t bear the thought of waiting until Monday. 

So in the meantime, Dean was on his most angelic and respectful behavior towards the man he had disappointed time and time again. Sam was as well, especially after Dean had let him in on what his plans were to reconcile with their boss. Admittedly, he had little faith it would work, but he had to try. At least he knew where Castiel stood now on the subject of Dean Winchester. It wasn’t a happy answer, but it was an answer, and it confirmed everything Dean had suspected for weeks. At least now he could work on a remedy rather than constantly be in limbo.

Halfway through the third hour of rehearsal, Castiel told Sam he was excusing him fifteen minutes early. Dean knew this was for him, and he appreciated it, but his stomach churned at the thought anyway. All the words he had planned to say were scrambled when the time finally came that Sam laid down his cello and left the concert hall at Castiel’s nod.

Castiel shut the lid to his piano. “Let’s go up to the booth.”

“The what?”

“The booth.”

He stood up, so Dean hung his violin on the stand and followed him across the stage, down the stairs into the audience, up the aisle, and up four flights of stairs and a steep ladder to the booth. The technician who was there startled in surprise, then quickly abandoned his perch at Castiel’s request. 

Dean looked out the little windows and fought back the vertigo that overtook him from being so high up. The stage was still lit up with three spotlights, one on each of the musicians. Castiel sat down at the panel that looked like it was for sound control, while Dean took the stool next to one that seemed to be for lighting. He didn’t know for sure what anything was, but the equipment looked hellishly expensive, so he was very careful not to accidentally bump anything or nudge any knobs. The room was much smaller than it looked from the stage, almost like an airplane cockpit, and it was very dark. Dean could hardly make out his boss’s expression, but his voice was gentle.

“Look at the stage for a minute,” Castiel said quietly, and Dean swallowed hard and swiveled to look down at his chair. _Way_ down at his chair. His violin was barely visible from here. There were so many seats. There were going to be so many people watching. That thought alone didn’t make him nervous; he had always been perfectly comfortable with being the center of attention. Only one person’s eyes on him made him nervous these days, and they belonged to Castiel.

“Thousands of people at a time watching you who have paid at least a hundred dollars each. Seven months, 64 cities, countless interviews. That is what you signed up for, Dean,” Castiel said, his tone as quiet as if they were in church. “Lots and lots of constant pressure to perform both onstage and off. If you can’t handle it for any reason whatsoever, you need to let me know now. I cannot put the tour at risk any longer. I know you understand where I’m coming from, and you must know nothing I’m about to say is a threat. It’s simply a choice you need to make. _Today_. I will let you out of your contract for no penalty if you want. In fact, I’ll give you severance pay. Just say the word.”

Dean felt his heart inching up into his throat.

“Is...is that what _you_ want?” he asked after a minute. “Because I think it is, but you don’t want to tell me.”

“I would tell you.”

Dean took a deep breath. _Shit, here goes_. He swiveled again to face his boss. “You sure?”

Castiel nodded, but his eyes were distant and unfocused. “I have before, haven’t I? Several times, if I recall correctly.”

 _Shit. Don’t give away what Bobby said. Protect him at all costs._ Dean was suddenly glad for the darkness in the booth; without it his face might have betrayed everything he was thinking.

“Castiel, I...I don’t believe you. Sorry. You want me to bow out, don’t you?”

Castiel looked about to protest, from what little Dean could see in the gloom. His chest inflated, then deflated again, and Dean suddenly regretted asking the question he already knew the answer to.

“I wish...that I had not been so insistent on taking you back the last time. I think that should answer your question without actually answering it.”

That’s as close to a yes as Dean was going to get, but it was enough. He felt incredibly relieved for some odd reason. Now he knew, and could fix this.

“I’m sorry I let you down,” he said eventually, the words catching in his throat. “I asked you to meet with me today because I wanted to make this right. I want to stay. I want to make you proud. But...now it’s too late, isn’t it?”

Castiel almost looked like he was going to object again. But then he nodded. “I think so, yes.”

Dean closed his eyes in pain. Okay, maybe he couldn’t fix this. _Fuck_. “I talked to Bobby yesterday. Had a nice chat. He...he changed the way I see you, and how I see this opportunity. This is long overdue, but I just wanted to let you know how sorry I am for not appreciating you as much as you deserved. For not meeting your expectations, and for making you question your decision to hire me. For what it’s worth, I’m determined to be a better person after this and make it up to someone else, since I can’t make it up to you. Pay it forward and all. Thank you for everything, Castiel. You did everything you could, and this isn’t your fault. I blew it all by myself.”

Castiel was silent, and together they watched the stage as Sam came back and carefully packed up his cello, totally oblivious to their presence fifty feet above his head. The thought of his brother going on tour without him made Dean’s soul want to shatter into a thousand pieces.

When Castiel spoke again, Dean jumped a little in surprise.

“I’m giving you a week to try and fix this. If you’re not up to my exact standards by noon next Friday, I’ll admit I was wrong about you, you’ll agree to resign without severance pay, and we’ll part ways forever. Are we agreed?”

Dean looked at him with wide eyes. “Seriously? Why would you even _want_ to give me yet another chance? I’m so fu...messed up.”

“Let’s just say you’re not the only one who had a chat with Bobby yesterday. Last night I told him I was done with you after our discussion Wednesday and intended to fire you today. That’s why I took you out of the interview.”

“What? Oh my god.” Dean’s heart fell to somewhere around his ankles.

“Yes. But Bobby can be very persuasive when he sets his mind to it. I trust him, so I promised to talk to you first before taking such a drastic step.”

“Understood, sir,” Dean breathed shakily. “One week. I’ll take it. Thank you.”

Castiel nodded, then stood up and banged his head solidly on the overhead lamp, which thankfully helped ease the tension in the room by just a little.

“You okay?” Dean asked as he jumped up to help - not that he could actually help, but still.

Castiel rubbed the top of his head and grimaced. “I do that every time. Never fails. I forgot to ask, did you make that appointment with your therapist?”

“Yes, I’m actually seeing her in person tomorrow. We have a two-hour session. I have every intention of addressing my, um, issue with the truth.”

“You haven’t told her yet?” Castiel looked aghast.

“Um. no. I...haven’t exactly been forthcoming with her, either.”

“Hmmm.”

“Sir, I...just so you know, it’s my mission now to prove you made the right decision. Learning you don’t want me here anymore is exactly what I needed to hear. I don’t know why. Obviously my psychology is so screwed up.” 

Castiel nodded. “I know why, and you can thank your father for that one. I don’t blame you for it.”

“No. It’s my fault now. I’m 26 years old, I need to have a freakin’ mind of my own already.”

“Good.”

“You don’t look convinced,” Dean observed worriedly. 

“Maybe not. I’m a little gun-shy with you these days. You’re basically saying you can change overnight, but...”

“I didn’t say overnight,” Dean corrected gently. 

“True.”

Dean looked back down at the stage and took a deep breath. “I know nothing I ever do or say from here on out is going to make up for all of this, but I’ll try anyway.”

“Don’t cry.”

“Probably gonna,” Dean mumbled as he wiped his nose. “You were my idol for so many years. I never imagined this kind of thing happening. It’s crazy.”

“ _Was_ your idol? Past tense?”

Dean caught the slightest glint of amusement in Castiel’s eyes, even in the dark.

“Sorry, I could have phrased that better,” Dean admitted sheepishly, then he looked down at the equipment again. “Is this the sound board?”

“Yes.” Castiel took a step closer to him and pointed to a few things. “These are all speaker controls and monitors. See that little ladder in the corner over there? That leads up to the light booth. Similar setup.”

“Oh, cool. This is some seriously fancy gadgetry here. Like the cockpit of a 747.”

“And cost about as much,” Castiel muttered in dissatisfaction. “Gabriel has very expensive taste.”

Dean tried not to laugh, but failed. Castiel relax slightly beside him.

“You’re welcome to sit up here during a show anytime you’d like. I do all the time. It’s very interesting.”

“That would be great. Thanks.”

Dean regarded Castiel fondly, then worriedly. There was no mistaking the look in the man’s eyes. It clearly said _I’ve made another huge mistake that I’m going to regret._ Dean suddenly flashed back to the moments after Lisa left him. That feeling of abandonment and regret as he walked her to her car with her last box. When he stood on the sidewalk to wave at her and Ben as she drove away. For the first and only time, she didn’t wave back. 

That sense of loss was exactly how Dean felt right now. He’d never have that magical connection to Castiel again, no matter how this turned out. _Permanent damage_ , as he’d said.

“Dean?”

“Yes?”

“I need to go to a lunch meeting.”

“Oh, sorry,” Dean said as he moved out of the way of the ladder. “Can I go take a look upstairs?”

“Sure. Just stay off the catwalk, it’s off-limits to everyone except the lighting crew. See you Monday.”

“Yes, sir. Have a nice weekend.”

Castiel didn’t answer, and Dean swallowed down the lump in his throat as he turned to go up the ladder. He ended up sitting in the booth for over an hour, just thinking and moping, before returning to the practice rooms with a new determination to prove his father wrong.

\---------

“Dean!”

“What?” Dean put down his violin and wandered out to the living room.

“For fuck’s sake, give it a rest. Or go play in the garage for a while.”

“Sorry.” Dean sat on the couch and picked up a handful of Cheez-its. “Any news about dad?”

Sam picked up his phone again. “No. His lawyer texted me like an hour ago saying the trial is still on schedule to start Monday, but…”

“But what?”

“Dad’s sick. Flu, real bad. They might have to delay.”

Dean stared at his brother. “I would say that’s news, Sammy.”

Sam shrugged. “I mean, he sounded fine yesterday. Are you going to talk to him today?”

“No.”

“Dean-”

“No. Besides, I have that appointment with Dr. Harvelle at 2, so I wouldn’t be able to make it anyway. But you can talk to him.”

“Alright.” Sam didn’t say anything more as he scrolled through the website he was studying closely.

“What are you looking at?” Dean asked eventually.

“The press stuff for our tour. Not a lot out there yet, but...still some stuff about you and dad. Hopefully that will all blow over. Castiel has been really good addressing it and not ignoring it.”

“How so?”

“Want to read it for yourself?”

“No. I can’t.”

“Dean, we’re in my house. Take the freakin’ laptop. I’m gonna go take a shower, then I’ll drive you to your thing.”

Dean took the laptop reluctantly. “Thanks, Sammy. Ready when you are.”

Sam disappeared into the bathroom, and Dean eagerly started google searching for his name. Five minutes later he put the computer down and went to lay on his bed. He had broken out into a cold sweat and was feeling horribly nauseated suddenly.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked him sometime later, as he picked up his car keys and went into his brother’s bedroom to get him.

Dean sat up slowly. “ _Not a lot out there yet,_ Sammy? What the fuck is your definition of that, exactly?”

“Oh. Shit. You didn’t google your name, did you?”

“Yeah. Fuck.”

Sam sighed. “Sorry. Should have warned you.”

“Castiel had to delete his twitter because of me. Because of the abuse he was getting for hiring a fucking criminal to go on tour with him!”

“It’ll blow over, Dean.”

“That wasn’t even the half of it. I’m gonna be sick,” Dean moaned.

“Well, bad press is better than no press at all. Castiel said the ticket sales are really good, so buck up, cowboy.”

“I’m a freakin’ villain, Sam! You should’ve _never_ given me your fucking computer. Novak Arts Center is getting horrible press. No wonder everyone stares at me!”

Sam shrugged. “Like I said, it’ll blow over eventually. We still have four months until the tour. Calm down. Time to go to therapy. You can talk to her about it. Come on.”

Dean got to his feet. “You should’ve told me this sooner. Then I would have taken Castiel’s offer and got severance pay.”

“Well. If you quit now, you definitely won’t get a job anywhere else for a long time, and you’ll go to jail. Guess you gotta stick with it, huh?”

Dean froze, his heart feeling like an ice cube suddenly. “Oh my god, Sam.”

“What?” Sam stood in the doorway and regarded his brother curiously.

“Don’t you dare give me that fucking innocent look. I know what that means.”

“Innocent? I’m not following-”

Dean nearly shouted. “You _wanted_ me to find this out on my own. Handing me the laptop and everything, telling me there’s nothing out there. You knew I’d search for myself.”

“Of course I did. We all do it.”

“You fucking manipulated me again,” Dean growled. “You could have just told me.”

Sam shrugged again. “Does it really matter how you found out? I’m glad you did, and I’m glad it’s upsetting you. It should. Now you know what you have at stake.”

“At _stake_? You mean, like everything? Yeah, this is just fine and fucking dandy, Sam, no problem, it’ll blow over. Holy shit.”

“It _will_ blow over. This is the classical music world, Dean. There’s not much of an audience that cares. You’re not a freakin’ Kardashian, for god’s sake. You’re not going to be villainized on the front page of People magazine.”

“Castiel might!”

“Castiel can handle himself. Can you?”

“I don’t know!”

“Well, that’s something you need to discuss with Dr. Harvelle, then. Let’s go.”

Dean flung open his closet door angrily and pulled on a clean shirt.

“You should have told me,” he repeated again, grumbling in a low tone. “Some of those articles are weeks old.”

“I couldn’t, okay? Castiel forbid me to. That’s why I wanted you to find out on your own, so please don’t call it manipulation. That’s not fair.”

“Let me guess, he didn’t think I could handle it.”

“Correct.”

Dean sat down to tie his shoes. “Okay. Fair enough. So why tell me now, today?”

“Didn’t think I’d have the chance to make you take my laptop again. Just kind of seized of the moment, I guess. I actually have been fighting with Castiel about it. Thought it was only fair you knew, but he...anyway, it’s done now. You were going to find out eventually. Only 39 days left.”

“45. So that means I have to pretend I don’t know. Just not say anything to him. Otherwise I’ll get you in trouble.”

“I was thinking you could tell him you took my laptop without my permission.”

Dean was horrified at the suggestion. “No, Sam! Seriously? I’m done lying to him. Absolutely not. Fuck. What am I going to do?”

“You’re going to put your big boy pants on and get over it, that’s what. Move on, do your job, stop obsessing about shit you can’t control. And do _not_ quit. That would totally negate everything Castiel’s doing to prove you deserve another chance.”

Dean nodded, and suddenly felt much calmer. “You’re right, Sammy. Thanks.” 


	87. Chapter 87

**Monday afternoon**

_**Thwack**_

“One. Done. You’re forgiven, Dean.”

“I’m so sorry, Castiel,” Dean said quietly in a strangled tone as he fought the urge to frantically pat out the line of flame on his backside.

“I said you’re forgiven. It’s done, we’ve talked it out, you’ve assured me it won’t happen again.” Castiel set the cane down as Dean turned slowly around and jammed his hands into his pockets. 

“I know, but I just wanted to make sure you knew I really regret losing my temper.”

“I got that. It’s not necessary to keep grovelling. Frankly, it’s more annoying than helpful.”

Dean nodded, then focused his mind on the sore knuckles of the hand he had used to punch the wall of the green room. Unjustly perhaps; Sam had been trying valiantly to behave lately, but Dean had been having a terrible day and overreacted to his brother’s somewhat misguided attempt at humor by taking out his frustration on the green paneling.

“Okay, sorry. As I said, it won’t happen-”

“Cas,” came a sudden voice from behind the door, along with a harsh knock. Gabriel, Dean recognized instantly. Castiel looked aghast at the door.

“What?” he barked harshly.

“Need to talk to you immediately, please.”

“Come in.”

Gabriel yanked the door open and walked in with Sam close behind.

“Sam?” Castiel asked unnecessarily, and Dean was suddenly overcome with a deep sense of foreboding.

“Sorry for interrupting. Dad’s really sick. I need to go to Las Vegas.”

“I’m coming with you,” Dean put in quickly. 

“You can’t. I already talked to Bela, and she said absolutely not.”

“What the fuck? That’s bullshit!”

 _“Dean_ ,” Castiel warned shortly. “I’ll talk to her. Sam, Get her on the phone.”

“But she said-”

“ _Go_.”

Sam left, and Cas threw out an arm across Dean’s path to stop him from stalking out the door behind his brother.

“ _Don’t_. Gabriel, stay here with him. Dean, if you set one foot outside this room without my permission, I’ll cane you again.”

”Let me pass,” muttered Dean between clenched teeth. “I’ll talk to Bela myself.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’re too angry.”

“And I’m only getting angrier because this is none of your fucking business! Let me pass!”

Castiel dropped his arm, and Dean instantly swept past him to follow Sam. 

——

“You’re really planning to be silent the whole time? Gonna be a long ride,” Sam muttered.

Dean shifted his position and glared out the window. They were just about to pass an abandoned waterpark in the middle of the desert; the one dad used to take them when they were little. It seemed so long ago, yet also not so long ago. There it was. _Memories._

“Fucking Castiel. Lording it over us like…like...”

“Like what? Like we’re his employees? Hello. Earth to Dean!”

“Shut up, Sammy.”

Sam looked into his rearview mirror and noticed with satisfaction that the police car tailing them halfway to Barstow was gone. 

“Fine. Be that way. Be a little bitch instead of being glad that Cas was able to intervene and-”

“You mean _interfere_ ,” Dean shot back hotly. “He’s so full of himself. Thinks he can just name-drop and get whatever the hell he wants.”

Sam laughed a little. “Yeah, because he can, and he does. What the fuck is your problem now?”

“I’m just tired of him trying to control my life.”

“Somebody has to, since you totally suck at it.”

“Seriously, Sam? Fuck you. I don’t need this bullshit right now.”

Sam’s phone buzzed loudly in the cupholder, but rather than send it to bluetooth he unplugged it and lifted it to his ear.

“Sam Winchester.”

There was a very long silence in which Dean at first writhed in anxiety, and then forced himself to sit still for the several minutes in which Sam barely replied except for a few _hmmms_ and _yes’s_ and _I see’s._

By the time he hung up, Dean was ready to explode with frustration and curiosity. “Well?”

“That was dad’s case officer in Vegas. Dad doesn’t want to see us and insists we go back home.”

“No,” Dean huffed decisively. “Keep going.”

“I will. Just be prepared for this all to be pointless. Oh, fuck. Bela’s calling now.”

“Too bad we’re out in the middle of the desert. No signal.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I have to answer.”

“Don’t care, Sammy. Let it ring or I’m gonna throw the fucking thing out the window.”

“You’re in a mood,” Sam said eventually, after his phone had stopped ringing. “Not to mention you’re being a complete fucking idiot. Bela has done nothing but advocate for you day after day, and not to mention Castiel’s relentless campainging. I’ve never known anyone so utterly determined to bite the hand that feeds them. Grow the fuck up, for real.”

Dean was silent. _No lies detected._ He knew he was being ridiculously petty and entirely unreasonable. That every dark thought he had about Castiel Novak was entirely unjust. But he couldn’t help himself, plain and simple. He was too riled up about what he’d found on Sam’s laptop, and that was another person’s fault altogether.

“Dean?”

“What?”

“We have to call Bela back. You know that. And she’s gonna tell us to turn around.”

Sam’s phone rang yet again, and Dean was ready to explode at this point. He didn’t protest, however, when his brother quietly sent his call to Bluetooth and over the car speakers.

“Yes, Mr. Novak?” Sam answered politely.

“I’d like to speak to Dean privately, please.”

Dean glanced at Sam worriedly, then detached the phone from the holder and disconnected the Bluetooth.

“Yes, sir?” he answered shakily, fearing he was about to be told he shouldn’t bother going back to work when they returned from Vegas. They had parted on the worst terms possible a few hours ago, after Dean had blown up when he found out Castiel called Bela anyway despite being told to mind his own business. There was a lot of swearing, and not a little storming away and slamming the door.

“Dean, how are you feeling?” Castiel asked calmly, his tone full of concern.

“Um. Nervous.”

“Hopefully your dad will be fine and recover fully. He’s in very good hands.”

“I didn’t...yeah, that too. But that’s not what I mean. Hang on.” He covered the microphone. “Pull over.”

“Here? We’re in the middle of-”

“Yes! On the shoulder.”

Sam did, albeit with much reluctance and grumbling, and Dean jumped out of the car and walked about twenty feet away. It was blazing hot; his sunglasses did very little to cut down the glare from the desert sun bouncing off the rocks.

“Sir, I...sorry, I’m out of the car now so I can talk freely. To be honest, I’m really, really pissed at you right now even though I know that I shouldn’t be.”

“Actually, you should be.”

“And I don’t know how to...wait, what?”

Castiel cleared his throat. “Yes, I said you should be. That’s why I’m calling to apologize. Not for calling Bela, and for obtaining permission for you to leave. I wouldn’t undo that.”

“Oh.” Dean was thoroughly confused. “Okay, then what? I don’t understand.”

“For not letting you follow Sam out of the room, most of all. It wasn’t my intention to interfere. I just wanted to protect you, and that’s not my place. Not in a family matter, at least.”

“No, it’s not. Apology accepted. Does this...does this mean I still have a job, then?” Dean’s words caught in his throat. “I mean, I fucked up so bad and it’s only Monday.”

“Yes, you still have a job, of course.”

Dean nodded to himself, his emotions running wild. “Okay. Thank you. I wasn’t sure. It’s just...you know, at rehearsal this morning, you didn’t even say anything to me at all. Didn’t even look at me the whole time. I kinda felt like I wasn’t even in the room. I don’t like to be ignored. That’s sort of why I popped off on Sam afterwards.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me that?” Castiel asked after an awkward silence. “I thought we agreed that open communication is our only hope of healing this rift.”

“I’m telling you now, aren’t I?”

“Yes, but sooner would have been better. Before you put a hole in my wallpaper.”

“Yeah, well...it’s ugly anyway. You really need a new interior decorator.”

Another pause. “I picked that out.”

“Oh.” Dean flushed a little. “Well, it’s ugly, just so you know.”

“Yes, you said that.” Dean was relieved to hear Castiel chuckle a little, but he felt no such mirth in response.

“I’m sorry. I’m really trying so hard to get my shit together. And I am, even though it doesn’t seem like it. I’m desperate to make it to Friday without getting fired, but…”

“I know you are, but you’ll have to try harder. Not to make you feel worse, but I never would have caned you if I knew that’s why you lost your temper. You had plenty of time to tell me, and you didn’t. You blamed Sam unjustly, and then you suffered for it. So just think about that next time.”

Dean looked up at the sky and sighed. “I didn’t _think_ at all, that’s the problem.”

“Hmm. Yes, that generally does cause problems for most of us. But back to the reason I called. I guess I’m so used to bossing my brothers around and controlling our family dynamics that I didn’t even notice I was...”

Dean listened, straining to hear, then heard the two sad beeps that indicated a poor signal.

_Call failed._

He cursed, then walked back towards the car. Nothing. He walked around for several minutes, searching for a signal in vain, then had an idea. He switched the phone into “airplane mode” and got back in Sam’s car.

“Call failed. For real, this time.” He set the iPhone back on the holder, making sure to keep his thumb over the telltale airplane symbol until the screen blackened. “Let’s keep going before Bela calls again.”

“If she does, I’m picking it up. Everything okay with you and Cas?”

Dean shut his door and put on his seatbelt, feeling proud of himself suddenly for ensuring Bela would indeed not be able to call them at all. “Yeah, actually. We’re good. He’s not...he’s not a bad guy, is he? Fuck, we’re lucky.”

“I’ve been saying that for months. But I bet you weren’t saying that when he had you up against the wall this morning.”

“Shut up before I punch a hole in your face this time. Let’s go.”

\--------------

**Sunrise Hospital, Las Vegas**

“Dean. Wake up. What the hell is wrong with your ankle monitor?”

“What?” Dean jerked awake and looked out the window, way, way up at the imposing buildings. “What the...how long have I been out?”

“Like three hours straight. I can’t believe you slept through the racket. That damned thing’s been going off like every minute for at least an hour.”

 _Oh, fuck._ Dean reached out for Sam’s cell phone, but found himself grabbing at empty air.

“Wait, Sam-”

“What are you doing? I need to call dad’s case officer...what the hell?”

Dean choked a little, then unbuckled his seat belt and popped opened his door; he was greeted by the very unwelcome sight of two police cars pulling up directly behind his brother’s car. He said nothing and pretended not to see them as he took off his flannel; while Sam was oblivious, being busily absorbed in checking the settings on his phone.

“Did you...Dean! I can’t believe you. You fucking idiot.”

He didn’t have time to say anything else; two very large and unhappy police officers had approached the car and one of them pulled open his door.

“Uh...what. Hello,” Sam sputtered. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Get out of the car, please.”

Sam stepped out with some hesitation and looked over at his brother, who was getting handcuffed on the spot.

“What are you doing?” asked Sam hesitantly. “We have permission to be here. He does, I mean. We both do.”

Dean was white. “Sam. Stop talking.”

“You boys have some explaining to do. Ignoring your parole officer is a serious offense, Mr. Winchester, not to mention you’re way out of bounds,” the taller officer said as he directed his glare at Dean.

“We were allowed-”

“Shut up, Dean,” Sam said quickly. “I want to call Ms. Talbot, please. Dean’s going to refuse to answer any and all questions without a lawyer until further notice. Aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I...yes.”

The officer nodded at his partner. “Put him in the back. You’re Sam?”

Sam looked about to spontaneously combust on the spot. “Yes, sir. Officer, I...Dean and me...we.. _.fuck_.”

“Wow. Really not my business there, big guy.”

“No, that’s not what I meant!”

The officer smirked at Sam’s expression. “Sure. Follow us to the station and consider yourself lucky you’re not handcuffed in the back, too. Get moving.”

\---

Bela was predictably ready to blow up at the two errant brothers, but she miraculously kept her cool as Dean explained he must have accidently somehow triggered the airplane mode function from Sam’s phone after talking to Castiel. Nobody was impressed, and nobody appeared to believe him.

Sam was playing along anyway, but Dean couldn’t possibly miss his occasional, brief disgust-filled glances in his direction. John was refusing to see his sons, Bela said, so their leave had been canceled over three hours ago and they were now in forbidden territory. The fact that she hadn’t been able to get a hold of them triggered a mandatory warrant for Dean that the Las Vegas police had picked up after the Charger’s license plate was spotted by an automatic scanner along the freeway towards the hospital. 

Dean was too terrified to say much, and he refused to let Sam call Michael yet. Not until he was ready for Castiel to know what he’d done, which would probably be never. He was taken to a cell to “hang out” while Sam was allowed to leave and proceed to the hospital.

\---

“Hey, dad,” Sam said softly as he sat down at John’s bedside. They were both wearing masks, so Sam couldn’t tell if the man was smiling or frowning. He looked okay, otherwise.

“Sam. Told you to go back.”

“I know. You got Dean in a world of trouble for that, just so you know.  Me too, probably.”

“He makes his own trouble. I’m not gonna even ask what happened.”

Sam swallowed hard. “Well, you should. I’m glad you changed your mind and decided to see me, but it’s too late for Dean now. What’s wrong? Why are you in the hospital? They made it sound like you’re dying.”

“Pneumonia, real bad. Can hardly breathe sometimes.”

“Oh, shit.” Now Sam could see the lines of fatigue, the wearing down of his facial features that the illness had brought on so quickly. Scarily fast, actually. He looked like he’d aged ten years in two months.

“You bring Dean?”

“No. Well, yes. Long story. He’ll be here in a little bit. Dad, don’t hate me, but you gotta apologize to him. Not for today, but...well, yes for today too, but mostly something else. You’ve got to help give him some sense of self-worth. He’s so hung up on what’s happened between you two that he’s never gonna let Castiel take care of him.”

John threw him a look of revulsion. “Take care of him?”

“Yeah. Financially, I mean. Dean’s been fired like four times since we last saw you. Keeps sabotaging himself left and right, up and down. You gotta help him, dad.”

“You say that like it’s my fault.”

“Because it is. You’ve been such a dick to him for so long that now he has no self-esteem.”

John glared at him, then struggled to sit up higher. “I’m literally handcuffed to this bed right now, half-dead. You think this is prime time to pick a fight with me?”

Sam looked down in shock; dad was indeed handcuffed in. Loosely, but still. He nudged his chair back a few inches.

“Sorry. I didn’t realize-”

“Get the fuck out, Sam.” John had a painful coughing fit while Sam stared at him stonily, although not without sympathy. When it subsided, Sam spoke again.

“Not yet. Dean used to idolize you, remember that?”

“Yeah. Before he lied to us for over _two years_ about being sober. Remember _that_?”

Sam sighed. They’d had this ugly conversation before. Dean _had_ lied to them, extensively and continuously, and Sam would be the pot calling the kettle black if he continued to pick on his dad for holding a grudge about it.

“Well, I just...I think it’s time for us to forgive him. He wants to change. So much, it’s almost pathetic.”

“I can believe that. Ha! Pathetic is right. Useless, too. Had us all fooled. You, especially.”

More coughing. A police officer appeared in the doorway to silently check on them, but Sam ignored him as he fought to keep his temper in check. “He’s not useless. Castiel thinks he’s going to be a star after this tour. He’s been working really hard, dad. You’d be proud. You _will_ be, I mean, when you hear him in concert.”

“We’ll see about that. Why’s he in jail?”

“Because he was desperate to see you. Think he wanted to get an apology.”

“He ain’t getting one. Neither are you.”

“I didn’t ask for-”

John dissolved into another coughing fit. Sam waited to make sure he was able to breathe freely again. 

“Dad, you’re right. You didn’t do this to him. _We did_ , together. You _and_ me. And it’s bullshit.” Sam stood. “I’ll be back later. Gonna check on Dean.”

He left hurriedly and floored it to the police station, where he learned Dean had just been transferred to the county jail.


	88. Chapter 88

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning in the end notes. It is quite a big spoiler so you might want to avoid it (it's not rape, just FYI)

**Five days later**

“Hiya, Sammy. How’s the weather out there?”

Sam studied his tired brother across the table and wasn’t fooled one bit by his upbeat greeting and thin smile.

“Not up for small talk, sorry. You okay?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. I’m afraid to ask, but how did Castiel...I mean, was he freaking out when you told him?”

“Um. Not exactly. Since I haven’t told him anything, that is.”

“You...have you been lying to him, Sammy? This whole week?” Dean looked utterly scandalized.

Sam shifted uncomfortably on the hard bench of the picnic-like tables in the visiting room and ran his hand through his hair. “No. He hasn’t called me, or emailed. Nothing whatsoever. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t know. Bela probably told him. But I...fuck, I don’t know what the hell I’m gonna say if he does call.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah. We’ll talk about what you want me to say later. I, uh...I just paid your bail. You’ll be out within the hour.”

Dean froze. “You didn’t.”

“Yeah, I did. And I’m paying for the lawyer as soon as I find the best one. Don’t give me shit about it, please.”

“But, wait, what the hell. That’s gonna be a metric fuckton of money!”

“Shhhh.” Sam looked around the room, but no one was paying attention to them. “We’ll have to go straight to the hospital as soon as you’re out.”

“No. We have to call Castiel first. I promised him a hundred percent honesty, all the time. Period.”

“Maybe you should wait-”

“No. I’m telling him everything. Then the hospital after that so I can deal with dad and get my apology.”

Sam took a deep breath and began to stand up. “Dean, um. Never mind. We’ll talk when you get out. I should go. I gotta do the paperwork. See you soon, okay?”

Dean started to stand up, but the guard barked at him to remain seated.

“What’s wrong, Sam? You...is dad okay?”

“I’ll see you in an hour,” Sam mumbled before he dashed off. Dean sat there for a little while longer with an enormous lump in his throat and shaking hands. He was then taken out to change his clothes, and escorted to the lobby to meet Sam. He didn’t say a word as they walked a very long distance to the car, but as soon as he opened the door the floodgates opened. No, not opened. He straight out burst into tears like a tired toddler.

“I’m so sorry, Sam. Fuck, how much was my bail? If I lose my job over this I can’t ever repay you.”

Sam took a deep breath and pulled the car out of the parking lot and into a shaded, secluded spot further down the road. It was hot as blazes, and the Charger was a veritable oven. Sam almost had to shout over the A/C.

“I don’t think you know how bail works. Don’t freak out. It’s a deposit. I’ll get it back once you show up at your hearing, if there is one.”

“Shit. I’m so fucking sorry. The lawyer, how much is he gonna be?”

“A lot. Dean, you gotta calm down. I know this week has been traumatic, but please try to relax. I’ll tell you everything, but you’ve gotta get in the right frame of mind first.”

Dean wiped his eyes, but that didn’t help stem the flow whatsoever. “Yes, everything. You ran away when I asked you about dad,” he sniffled. “You didn’t even say he was okay. What the fuck is going on? Is he alright?”

Sam’s eyes instantly went moist, and Dean knew. He fucking _knew_ , because Sam never cried about anything, ever. He pushed open the car door and bolted out, then kneeled in the grass next to a fire hydrant and vomited.

Sam sat in his car, numb and still in denial, while he kept a close eye on his brother in the side mirror. He knew Dean would want to deal with this alone. That’s just the way he was with grief; he’d done it with mom and he’d done it with Lisa. He preferred to suffer by himself. Sam was the opposite. He’d needed Dean by his side while he was holding dad’s lifeless hand, but he didn’t have him. He didn’t have anyone. Suffering solo was much harder. In a way, that was the moment he realized Dean was a much stronger person than he was. And always had been, now that he looked back on it.

Dean eventually stood up, holding on to the hydrant to steady himself, and Sam was out in a flash and standing by his side, gently grasping his arm to keep him steady.

“Front or back seat?”

“Back. Sit with me. Please.” They both got in from the passenger side. The a/c was barely blowing now, and the car was nice and cool. Cold, even. Dean laid across the seat and rested his head on Sam’s leg as if it were a pillow. Sam gulped back his tears and gently squeezed Dean’s shoulder, then rested his long arm along his brother’s side, reaching almost down to his knee. Dean brought a hand up after a moment and took a grip on his younger brother’s forearm. 

When they were kids, it was always Sam who’d been in that position of needing comfort this way. Exactly this way. Usually after being spanked, but also sometimes from just being tired and lonely. There had been plenty of reasons back in those days. But now, for the first time, he was able to return the favor to his big brother. Dean just lay there on his side listlessly, just like Sam had as a bratty kid, staring out the windshield at nothing, not moving except to blink. 

They stayed like that for a long time. Half an hour, perhaps; Sam’s arm alternately rising and falling with Dean’s irregular breathing. Sam never wanted it to end, if he was being totally honest with himself. He hadn’t felt so connected to his brother since...well, he couldn’t remember when. Middle school, maybe...? He even felt slightly guilty for enjoying this moment, as horrible as it was. He never realized how much he had craved his brother’s touch as an adult. It was comforting. Absurdly, overwhelmingly comforting. He was able to relax for the first time since they had left Los Angeles almost a week ago.

“Any last words?” Dean asked suddenly, quietly.

“No. He wasn’t concious before he...you know. Departed this world.”

“He ever say anything before that about forgiving me? Don’t you fucking lie to me,” Dean said without heat.

There was nothing more Sam wanted than to say yes. That Dean was entirely forgiven. He’d begged dad for a few words to give his son to set his mind at ease. He got a few words, alright, but not the ones he wanted. And those words he would never repeat. Not to anyone, especially not Dean. 

“Unfortunately not. He wasn’t interested in giving or receiving forgiveness.”

“Did he say anything about me at all?”

Sam nodded reluctantly. “Yeah. But…”

“Yeah. Say no more. Surly bastard,” Dean remarked sourly. “I want to go home, Sam. To your house, rather.”

“My house is your home, Dean, for as long as you want it to be. But first things first. We have to go to the hospital so you can see his body.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Too bad, you have to. You need closure. Then we have to sign the paperwork to have him buried.”

Dean fell silent and still again, and Sam instantly regretted his tone. “Sorry. I...that was...didn’t mean to bark at you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Dean sat up abruptly, and Sam felt his heart hurting keenly at losing the moment. Not that it could have lasted forever, anyway, but he hadn’t meant to hasten its end.

“As for going home, well...sorry, I’m way too tired tonight. Haven’t slept much. I booked us at Southpoint so we can just hit the road in the morning.”

Dean nodded. “So...you weren’t lying? You really haven’t talked to Castiel?”

Sam shook his head. “Not a word. Not to Michael or Gabriel either.”

Dean rubbed his eyes again. “Okay. Fuck. I haven’t cried that much since...last week. And the week before that, and before that…”

“Shut up. Don’t make me laugh at a time like this,” Sam grumbled.

“Well, it is funny. I’m such a fucking crybaby,” Dean replied as he unlatched the door. “Shotgun.”

“You got it. Hell, I’ll even let you pick the music this time.”

“Nah, I’m good. Let’s just talk some more.”

\----------

Dean insisted on taking Sam’s phone on the way to the hospital so he could scroll through Twitter and Google himself to find the news on his latest disaster and cause of embarrassment for Novak Arts Center. He was utterly surprised to find nothing. At all. Not a peep. No one was talking about him.

“I don’t get it, Sam. I mean, I’m happy, but…”

Sam nodded. “Bela had the warrant issued in Nevada, because they don’t publish them for public knowledge. I think it’s only one of three states that does that. You’re not in the news, because nobody knows, and if the case is thrown out they’ll probably never know.”

Dean set the phone down on his lap. “Jesus. Lucky me.”

“Not luck. It was deliberate. She told me everyone at the station was watching your GPS tracker all afternoon. The moment our wheels hit Primm she pulled the trigger. And she had to do it, no choice. That’s when your ankle monitor started going apeshit.”

Dean looked at his brother uncomprehendingly. “Wait. She...she _waited_ until we crossed into Nevada _on purpose_?”

“Yeah, Dean. On purpose. That’s what deliberate means.”

“Why?”

“To help you, dumbass! Sorry. I didn’t mean to....” Sam took a deep breath. “I know you don’t like anyone helping you, never have, but can’t you just accept it this one time? Please?”

Dean fell silent again, his head back up against the headrest, eyes closed.

“I don’t want to see dad’s body, Sam. I don’t know if I can handle it.”

“You’ll literally never have another chance to do this. Without closure, you’re going to think he’s lurking around every corner and…just think about it. That’s how you were about mom, for years. Remember? It took you _years_ to accept she was gone, because you never got to-”

“Alright, alright. Point taken. I’ll do it. How much farther?”

“Next exit.”

Dean’s eyes flew open. “Shit. Can’t we do this in the morning?”

Sam wanted protest. Wanted to insist. Force his brother, if necessary, to do what he didn’t want to do. But no, those days were behind them. Dean got to make his own choices now.

 _Deep breath_. “Your choice. I’ll do what you want. My advice is that we get it over with, go grab some food, then hit the hay. Long drive tomorrow, and who knows what we’re up against once Castiel finds out about all this.”

“Not like _you_ have to worry,” Dean replied calmly. “I could still go back to jail. How the hell am I going to explain this to him? I’m so fucked. Again. I guess the first step would be to call Bela and ask her if he knows already.”

“You want me to call her now and ask her?” Sam asked after a moment. 

“Yeah. Please. I won’t be able to think about anything else until I know.”

\------------

“Hey dad,” Dean said under his breath as he walked up to the wheeled table. Only John’s arm was visible above the blue paper blankets, all the tattoos telling the story and confirming its conclusion. Dean had refused to allow the morgue attendant to uncover anything else.

His first instinct upon arriving to the hallway outside had been to flee, but now that he was here, there was nowhere else he wanted to be. He pulled up a stool and sat down next to his dad, keeping his eyes on the ink.

“Well, this was unexpected. Fuck.” Dean cleared his throat and twiddled his thumbs for a few moments, lost in thought. Lost in memories. In regret. Lots and lots and lots of regret. 

“Anyway. Here we are. Sam told me. It’s okay that you didn’t forgive me. It really is. I can live with that, since I’ll never forgive me, either, even if you did. So we’re square.”

Silence. Dean’s mind wandered for several more minutes, then came back to the present.

“Look, I know you hate Castiel and everything, but he’s a really good guy. So after I leave you, I’m gonna go make things square with him, too. He’s been amazing. Try not to…”

_Try not to what? He’s stone cold dead, he ain’t doing or thinking a damned thing from now on._

“Never mind. Guess I can't ever make you proud now, so I’m gonna try to make Cas proud. And Sam. And Bobby. Hell, maybe one day I’ll even make myself proud. Who knows?”

Silence. Dean felt silly all of a sudden, sitting here talking to a dead, tattooed arm, and he decided to wrap it up quickly.

“I don’t know what else to say,” Dean murmured. “Except I gotta go do my life now. Gotta go make this right with Cas and Sam, and everyone else I’ve ever screwed. Not literally...get your mind out of the gutter. Haha. Anyway. Fuck, this is so messed up. But I’m gonna go get my shit together now, and about damned time. Wish me luck. Goodbye for now, dad. Sorry this happened to you. I’ll miss you. See you on the other side.”

Dean stood up, patted the arm - slightly recoiling at the cold firmness of it - then re-covered it with the paper blanket and bailed out of the room as fast as he could manage without falling over his own feet.

——

“Hey. Dean. Rise and shine. Time to hit the road.”

Dean peeked open one eye. “Oh man. Sleeping so good. Another hour?”

“Okay, but...it’s really getting late.”

“Mmm. K.”

Dean drifted off to sleep again and didn’t hear Sam calling down to the front desk to ask for late checkout to be extended yet again. It was already 2pm, and Dean had been sleeping for eleven hours straight; half that time Sam had been downstairs in a meeting room on the phone with Bela or the mortuary. He hadn’t yet returned the two calls from Castiel, but couldn’t put it off any longer, so he grabbed his phone again and quietly went on the balcony.

“It’s Sam. So sorry I missed your calls, I’ve been on the phone all morning.”

“How’s Dean?”

“Hard to say. He...he hasn’t really said much. But this is the most he’s slept in months, so that’s good. We’ll get home tonight, then he’ll have all Sunday to recover. I honestly don’t know if he’ll be up for coming back to work Monday. Me either, come to think of it.”

“I understand.”

There was a very long, awkward silence, and Sam had no idea what to say to break it.

“Um. Castiel?”

“Yes?”

“I...I don’t know if Dean’s ever going to tell you what this week has been like for him. It’s probably best if you don’t ask, and just let him come out with it when he’s ready.”

Castiel paused. “I already know he was in jail all week, and why.”

Sam’s heart jolted a little. “Fuck. I mean...sorry. Dean and I have-”

“No need to explain, Sam. Truth is that I shouldn’t know, but my brother Uriel happens to be very good friends with someone on the case.”

“Of course he is,” Sam grumbled. “Jesus. Is there anyone in this country you don’t know?”

“Not really,” Castiel answered seriously. “Anyway, I’m already taking care of it, so don’t worry.”

Sam paused. “ _Taking care of it..._ what does that mean?”

“Already hired the right lawyer to get this thrown out. He’s on it. We’ll have to keep Dean out of the loop, or he’ll throw himself on his sword just to spite me.”

Sam peeked into the room and regarded the lump on the bed. He and Dean had spoken yesterday about establishing a new trust, and not doing things behind each other’s backs. It was a brief conversation, yes, but the most important one they’d had in years.

“Wait, no. You have to ask him first.”

“Sam, no. We both know he’d choose death row rather than accept my assistance.”

“Yeah, he’s my brother, I know that better than anyone. But-”

“We’re not telling him anything, and that’s final,” Castiel huffed. 

“No, it’s not, sir,” Sam pushed back hotly. “We’re going to tell him, give him the choice to say no, and we’re going to honor his decision. _That’s_ what’s final here.”

Castiel was apparently so taken aback that he was speechless, and Sam felt his heart fall to the ground. “My apologies, sir, I...it’s been a week.”

“Yes, and you’re letting your emotions control your reasoning,” Castiel said evenly. “Dean is going to say no, and he’s going to go to jail. You _know_ that!”

Sam looked back at Dean again. His older brother was awake again, staring at the ceiling blankly.

“He deserves to know, and he gets to choose. I’m not letting you have it your way this time. Sorry, Castiel. Fire me if you want, but-”

“I’m not going to fire you over this, for god’s sake. Fine. Call me from the car after he decides.”

“Oh hell no. You have to tell him. I’m not doing it.” Sam hung up, then took a few deep breaths to calm himself before sliding open the patio door and entering the room again.

Dean turned his head to look at his brother. “Tell me _what,_  Sammy?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Major Character Death


	89. Chapter 89

“Tell me what?” Dean repeated irritably as he threw off his covers and propped himself on an elbow.

Sam slid the door shut behind him and sat down heavily on the other bed, then ran his hands through his hair. “Cas fucked up, and I’m not taking the fall for it. Especially since I don’t actually have all the details. You should wait to hear it from him.”

“Give me the abridged version.”

Sam took a deep breath and shook his head. “He...he hired a lawyer without telling you and is trying to get the whole thing thrown out. He wanted to hide it from you, but I said no.”

Dean sat up and crossed his legs, then took a drink out of the water bottle off the bedside table. “Bela said he didn’t know. Was she lying?”

“You’re gonna have to ask him how he knew. He mentioned Uriel found out from a friend. Like I said, I don’t have all the details. Don’t glare at me like that, please. This is _not_ my fault.”

“You didn’t tell him, did you?”

“No! How could you even...okay, fine, fair enough. No. Didn’t tell him, and I’m pissed at him. Actually hung up on him just now. Guess it’s a good thing I opted out of that caning clause, huh?”

Dean took another drink of water, but said nothing more. He was deeply lost in thought, so Sam got up and threw open Dean’s suitcase on the desk.

“The hotel’s gonna charge me for another night if we don’t get going. Come on.”

“Relax, Sam. No need to panic. I have like three things to pack.” He got to his feet, unplugged his ankle monitor from the wall, and disappeared into the bathroom. Sam’s phone was ringing again; he saw Castiel’s name and immediately sent it to voicemail.

“Sam?” called Dean from the bathroom.

“Yeah?”

“We never talked about a memorial service for dad.”

“Long drive home. Let’s talk then. Jesus, Dean, shut the door while you piss.”

“Sorry.”

The door closed, and Sam laid back down on his bed and took several long breaths to calm himself. Dean eventually reappeared from the bathroom, looking like his usual model self  with arms full of his clothing, which he promptly dumped into his suitcase.

“I just realized I haven’t eaten in an actual restaurant in like...nine weeks. Think we can stop on the way home?”

“Bela said we had to make it a straight shot. Sorry.”

“Isn’t there a restaurant in this hotel?”

“Yeah, actually.” Sam sat up with a grin. “Like four of them. They even have a steakhouse. And I have enough cash so they can’t track us to it. Wanna go?”

Dean smiled and laughed. “Hell, yeah. I just spent five days eating old turkey patties and green beans out of a giant can. My treat, though.”

“Let’s do it. Still have to make it quick, though.”

“Done packing.” Dean zipped up his suitcase. “Let’s go. Gonna get me a nice slice of cow for lunch. And pie? Do they have pie? They better have pie. None of this gourmet cheesecake bullshit.”

\-----------------

Dean was happily sprawled out in the booth of the steakhouse, as satisfied as a pig in a trough, when he first realized he was totally relaxed for the first time in...well, forever. 

“Sammy…”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for this. I mean it.”

“What? You’re the one who paid for it.”

Dean looked at his empty dessert plate with regret; he didn’t have room for a second slice of pie.

“You know what I mean. I gotta go to the bathroom. Be right back.”

“Don’t forget to close the door.”

“Shut up.”

Sam laughed, then peeked at his phone as soon as Dean was out of sight. Castiel had called four more times. He knew he was in for a serious reckoning when he got back to Los Angeles, but he didn’t care. Until the first text came in a few moments later, that is.

_-Sam, I require a call by 4pm. If I don’t hear from you, we are going to have a highly unpleasant discussion when I next see you in person. -CN_

Sam rolled his eyes a little; not least because Castiel always signed off on the end of his texts as if the recipient couldn’t figure out who it was coming from by his phone number alone.

_-Been a little busy grieving. Just lost my father, in case you forgot_

_-There is exactly zero reason for your poor attitude. I expect it to be corrected before we speak._

Fuck. Castiel had been such a hardass for the past couple of weeks, but Sam hadn’t really told Dean about it. Mostly because he wasn’t sure what he’d done to earn such contempt in the first place, but considering he hadn’t done much to resolve it, either, there was very little he could say without looking like a complete dumbass. 

He put the phone down as his brother emerged from the other side of the restaurant and sauntered across the room and slid into the booth. 

“What’s up, Sammy? Looks like you just ran over your own dog.”

“Nah, it’s just...man, I’m so full.”

Dean picked at his dessert plate; there were a few rogue crumbs still scattered around. “Hmmm. Wanna try that again?”

“What?”

“I’m saying I don’t believe you. No secrets between us. Remember?”

Sam reluctantly handed his phone over. “Right. No secrets. I’m officially on Castiel’s shit list. Mostly because I’ve been ignoring his calls for the past two hours.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m pissed at him. I told you.”

Dean shrugged. “This is my battle, Sammy. Let me handle it. You were right, you shouldn’t have had to explain for him. Not your problem. Let’s go before Bela electrocutes me.”

“Oh. Been buzzing a lot?”

“More than usual, but not like ‘get-your-ass-back-home-immediately’ style. If we don’t head out soon though-”

“Got it.” Sam slid out of the booth. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom now. Meet you out front.”

Dean went out to the lobby and sat down, Sam’s phone still in his hand. He had to fight the urge to google himself again, and slipped it into his pocket in case anyone was looking. It was increasingly hard as the minutes went by; Sam took forever, but when he finally came back, he was smiling again.

“Wow, Sammy. You _corrected your attitude_ already, huh?”

Dean was rewarded with a smile he hadn’t seen in a long time, and then Sam handed him a big paper bag with handles.

“Got you a little something. Check it out.”

“Oh shit. Is this...it’s an entire freakin’ pie!”

“Ha, yeah. A little snack for the ride home. You spill it in my car though and I’m leaving your ass in the middle of the desert to walk home.”

Dean grinned, then turned and snatched two forks and a handful of napkins off the Takeout Counter. “Challenge accepted.”

\------------------

Sam checked his car’s clock again with trepidation; there were only a few more minutes until his hour left to call Castiel expired. He was a little worried about Dean, who was strangely silent after they headed out of town at exactly the right speed limit to avoid being pulled over. 

“Hey Dean...if you’re gonna blow up at Cas, just don’t quit again. Okay? You need this job. You have to keep it.”

Dean laughed humorlessly. “That’s bold of you to assume that I still have a job at all.”

“I think you do. I mentioned we may not be ready to come back Monday and it didn’t faze him at all.”

“Alright. Let’s do this, then.”

“Wait. You didn’t promise me yet that you won’t quit.”

Dean closed the lid to the pie box and set it on the floor. “I won’t quit, Sam. You have my word. No matter what he says.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Sam grumbled.

“I said I promise,” Dean retorted. “Call him before I lose my nerve. Wait, I’ll call him. You drive.”

Sam braced himself and gripped the steering wheel tighter as Castiel came on the line and Dean set the phone back into the dash holder.

“I’m glad you finally called me, Sam. I don’t appreciate having to wait so long to talk to Dean.”

Sam exchanged a glance with his brother, who swallowed hard and said, “I think it was more my fault than his, so please accept my apologies for the delay.”

“Hmmm,” Castiel grunted as Dean turned and shrugged at Sam.

“We’re on the way home. Sam mentioned you’ve known about my situation for several days.”

“Yes. I’d rather not explain how I know, but I will if you want me to.”

“No, it’s fine. Doesn’t matter at this point. Please tell me about the lawyer.”

Dean ignored his brother’s astonished side glance at him and concentrated on listening to Castiel.

“Well, it’s quite simple. My brother Uriel got in trouble years ago in Reno and had to get a lawyer. Long story. Anyway, they became close friends and he’s now the top defense lawyer in the state. Uriel owes me a few favors, so I called him and asked me to get in touch. Before I knew it, he was working on your case.”

“Without you telling Dean,” Sam put in stiffly.

“Sam,” Dean warned. 

“Yes, without me telling Dean,” Castiel replied evenly. “Not like I could have told him anyway, with him being incarcerated and all, in case you forgot.”

“You could have told _me._ ”

“Sam!” Dean hissed again. Then he mouthed _shut up!_ Which promptly earned him another _what the fuck?_ expression from Sam.

“Sam, how about we let this conversation stay between me and your brother? Take me off speakerphone.”

“It’s okay,” Dean said quickly. “I want him to hear this. He’s a lawyer, too. I might need his professional opinion.”

“Alright. Anyway, as you know, I have plenty of connections, so once I put the right word in, things started to move pretty quickly. I didn’t expect you to get out of jail so fast, though.”

“Neither did I. Sam paid my bail, thankfully.”

Sam huffed a little. “Sorry, can we back up for a second? Just a quick question. Did you have anything to do with Bela waiting until we got into Nevada to issue his warrant?”

There was a long pause, and Sam gulped. “It’s okay if you did. I’m just trying to figure out exactly how this all went down.”

“Yes,” Castiel admitted. “I...Uriel gave me a heads up while you two were still on the way to Las Vegas. I don’t know if you recall, but he’s Bela’s boss’s boss.”

“So she lied,” Sam said irritably.

“Lied about what?” Castiel asked.

“She said you didn’t know about Dean’s arrest.”

“I never talked to Bela or got involved with her at all. She didn’t say a word to me, either. This was all me and Uriel. Anyway, that’s not relevant.”

“It is totally relevant, because you were meddling without Dean’s consent.”

Dean yanked the phone out of the holder. “Mr. Novak, I’m sorry. Can you just hold for a second? I’m going to put you on mute. Please don’t hang up.”

“That’s fine.”

Dean jabbed the mute button and turned angrily his brother.

“Dude, what the fuck? Calm your tits. This is our _boss_ we’re talking to.” 

“Are you kidding me, Dean? He’s been interfering left and right since day one, without your knowledge or consent! This is bullshit. He needs to mind his own fucking business.”

“Let him finish. Jesus, Sam. I need to hear this, and if you start grilling him he’s going to get annoyed and bail on the call. Will you please just keep quiet, for god’s sake? Let the man talk. And let me talk, too, while we’re at it.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but he nodded and clamped his mouth shut.

“Thank you. _Fuck_.” Dean hit the unmute button. “I’m sorry, Mr. Novak, just a little sidebar there with Sam. Please continue.”

“I forgot where I left off.”

“Um, you said things started moving quickly.”

“Yes. Then Michael got involved, too, and helped write the motion to dismiss the case. Anyway, the reason I was so angry with Sam is because I found out your hearing is going to be on Monday in Las Vegas. You have to be there in person, so I was going to tell Sam to book the hotel for another two nights. I’ve already put in a word with Bela and she’s going to issue you another permit for travel.”

“I’ll turn the car around,” Sam said quickly. “We’re only an hour out.”

“Not necessary. Since you didn’t respond, I’ve booked him flights there and back for Monday. Michael will travel with him.”

Dean looked at Sam again, a bit overwhelmed by how fast this was all moving.

“I’m sorry,” Sam replied eventually. “Do you mind holding on again for a minute? Just...we need another sidebar. Hang on.”

He muted it, then pulled his car over into a turnoff and lit his brother up.

“Dean, this is so messed up. He literally is taking your life into his hands without even asking you a fucking thing or getting your consent. How the hell are you staying so quiet?”

Dean sighed. “Sam, you’ve been asking my entire life to let someone help me. Now I’m doing exactly that, and you’re getting on my ass about it? Seriously?”

“He’s not just helping you. He’s _controlling_ the entire situation to get what he wants. He’s not even asking what _you_ want. This is...messed up. So fucking messed up.”

“What are my options, exactly? You couldn’t find me a fucking lawyer even when scraping the bottom of the barrel, and you had an entire week. I’m out of options. Unmute the phone.”

“Dean-”

“Unmute the phone! Or do you want me to tell him to go fuck himself and just report back to jail now to save time? Because that’s what’s gonna happen if I don’t say yes. Have you forgotten this is my problem, not yours?”

Sam threw up his hands in surrender. “Okay. Fine. I don’t want to fight. I just want you to stand up for yourself. Do what you gotta do.”

“Thank you for your permission to make my own decision,” Dean replied sarcastically. 

“Speaking of making decisions…” Sam unmuted the phone. “Castiel, you haven’t asked Dean if he wants your help yet. You agreed he would have to consent before you move ahead, remember?”

“I remember. Dean, do I have your permi-”

“Yes,” Dean interrupted quickly. “Whatever you need to do, you have my full consent and cooperation. Thank you so much for helping me.”

Sam shook his head in disbelief at his brother, but he kept his mouth shut.

“You’re welcome. I’ll email your brother all the travel arrangements tonight. And Sam? We’re going to have a talk on Monday about you ignoring my calls. Completely unacceptable.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam replied through gritted teeth.

“Dean, try to take Sunday to relax and get in the right frame of mind for Monday. Call me when you get home.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, I will. The moment I get home. But...I gotta know first, do I still have a job?”

“Yes. Talk to you soon.”

Castiel hung up, and the brothers were silent for several long minutes.

“Sorry I blew up,” said Sam eventually. “I know he’s just trying to help, but I don’t like the way he went about it. And he conveniently didn’t mention that he intended to keep this from you the entire time and do everything behind your back. He even asked me to keep it a secret.”

Dean nodded. “You know why? Because I’m a self-sabotaging colossal fuck-up who can’t take a piece of advice if my life depended on it. Be mad at him all you want, but don’t be pissy with me for doing exactly what you’ve wanted me to do all along, which is to keep my mouth shut and go with the flow. About damned time, too.”

“I know,” Sam replied quietly. “Just...sorry. I’m just a little stunned by your acceptance of the whole thing. I was fully expecting you to go tell him to die in a fire, or something like that.”

“No. I’m done with that shit.”

“Okay, well...as long as you don’t let him control you.”

“Control me? Are you serious?”

“Yeah. Now that dad’s not here, Castiel might fall into that ‘domineering father’ role by default, if you let him. Be careful.”

Dean shook his head and looked out the window. “Oh my god. You’re such a drama queen. A drama queen with a hyperactive imagination, no less. Can we go, please?”

Sam pulled his Charger back on the road. “I don’t want to fight, Dean. Ever again. I just...something about Cas lately just really sets me off. The way he’s so dominant over his brothers. Haven’t you noticed the way they cower around him?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. He definitely wears the pants in the family. But Sam? This one is my battle to fight, okay? Let me do this. I get why you’re worried, but Castiel is _actually helping_ me. A lot. I mean, if all this leads to the charges being dropped, I’m going to owe him big time.”

“Yeah. That’s what I’m worried about,” Sam admitted. 

“I’ll be careful, Sam. I promise. When this is over I’ll make it clear to him that I don’t appreciate shit being done behind my back.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” Dean said firmly. “And I want you to give him a break. He means well. He can’t help that he goes about things the wrong way all the time and fucks everything up. So do you, no offense intended.”

“And you. No offense intended.”

“None taken. Now please excuse me. This pie ain’t gonna eat itself.”


	90. Chapter 90

Sunday was a rough day for the brothers Winchester. Dean couldn’t bear to look at anything that reminded him of dad, and Sam couldn’t bear to look at Dean in general. He was still pissed at him for rolling over so easily to Castiel’s plan, although he knew he was being unfairly absurd about the whole thing. After all, why shouldn’t he be thrilled now that Dean’s fate was no longer his responsibility? That his choice of lawyer wouldn’t be a disaster from which he may never be forgiven? He literally had every reason to be relieved and thankful for Castiel’s intervention.

But he wasn’t. He was so sick of the man, that every time Dean said his name he just wanted to gag. It didn’t help that he was less than 18 hours away from metaphorically getting his ass kicked for ignoring their boss’s calls. Castiel was bad enough when he was in a good mood...

Dean retreated to the garage after lunch to practice his violin, so Sam had the house to himself and was able to make calls and answer emails without any interruption. He’d had no idea how quickly funeral arrangements had to move, and every communication seemed more urgent than the last. He answered message after message after message, with seemingly no end to the questions. His temper was not soothed at all by a call from Palms Mortuary around 4pm, in which he was advised that his credit card was no longer needed because an anonymous third party had already called and paid for everything.

Sam thanked the woman, then sat back and sighed deeply. Angrily. _Anonymous third party._ Like there could be any doubt about who _that_ was.

The next thing that irritated the holy living shit out of him was when the probate lawyer sent him the official copy of John Winchester’s will. Turned out their dad had left everything to Dean. Literally from every last penny all the way up to the Impala. Not a single fucking thing signed over to Sam. He set aside his resentment as best he could (which admittedly wasn’t very successful), printed out the forms for Dean to sign, put them in a manila folder, and hopped into his car to drive somewhere and...he didn’t know what he wanted to do. 

He ended up at a bar, and got so snookered that he had to take a taxi home three hours later. When he got there, Dean was sitting on the couch scrolling the internet on Sam’s laptop.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded.

Dean shut the lid to the Mac and set it aside. “Where have you been?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Jesus, Sam, calm down. I wasn’t being nosy. Just worried.”

Sam walked over and roughly snatched the computer off the couch, while Dean watched him anxiously.

“You okay?"

“Go to your room.”

“ _Go to my room_? Seriously? I’m not twelve!”

“Okay. Let me rephrase that. This is _my_ house, and right now I want _my_ living room to _myself,_ if you would be so kind.” The last few words were slightly slurred.

Dean glared at his brother hotly. “Wow, Sam. Drunk as a skunk. You need a cold shower.”

“Did you see the papers I left you?” Sam blurted.

“Yeah. Is that what you’re mad about? Because I just looked up the three bank accounts that were listed and got all the logins. That’s what I was doing on your computer. You ready to hear how much dad left us?”

“You. Left _you._ ”

Dean shrugged. “Fine. Left _me_. Brace yourself. Two of the accounts were overdrawn a couple hundred bucks, and the third has almost four hundred dollars in it. That won’t even pay the overdraft fees of the other two. So cheer up, cowboy. I got nothing but the Impala, which you know was promised to me all along since you never wanted it anyway.”

Sam seemed stunned and incredibly embarrassed, which mollified Dean to no end. 

“Oh. Are you...are you serious?”

“Look for yourself if you’re gonna be a little bitch about it. I took screenshots of everything. Please excuse me, I’m gonna go to my room now and play with my dolls.” Dean stood up and stalked into his room and slammed the door behind him, leaving Sam staring at the laptop in his hands. Then he set it down and ran into his bathroom and threw up three times in the toilet.

When he finally recovered himself and reemerged, Dean was standing in the doorway of his bedroom with a glass of ginger ale and some ibuprofen.

“Here. I couldn’t find the Alka-Seltzer but this should make you feel better.”

Sam leaned against the wall; the hallway was suddenly spinning in different directions in each eye. He reached out to grasp Dean’s offerings and gulped down the pills along with half the glass.

“Thanks,” he managed to say as he handed it back. “Need my bed.”

Dean was there instantly to put his arm around his brother and help him lay down. Once Sam was under his covers and breathing normally again, Dean sat down on the bed right next to him and watched him with an expression of sadness and irritation all at once.

“You okay, Sammy?”

“No. I’m a fucking idiot. I’m sorry.”

“Not gonna disagree, but we’ll leave it at that. By the way, I just read the rest of the paperwork and there was also a combination to a safe deposit box at the bank. I’m gonna give it to you. I trust you. Go check it out. Maybe it’s money. Whatever’s in there, we split evenly. Deal?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t mad because of money. It was just....”

Dean nodded. “I know. He probably left everything to me because I’m the oldest. Or maybe it was out of spite. Depends on what’s in that box.” He grinned a little, and was surprised and pleased to see the corners of Sam’s mouth turn up a fraction of an inch. A millimeter… maybe. Better than nothing.

“Probably a bill for the cost of raising you.”

“I was thinking more like an envelope full of anthrax,” Dean retorted with a smirk.

Now Sam did chuckle, although it pained him to do so. “Ow. Hurts to laugh.”

“Better than crying, Sammy. Speaking of which...boy, are you in for the headache of the century tomorrow. And you gotta face Castiel first thing. I’d better bring you that entire bottle of ibuprofen. Or some really good stuff, like the codeine I have leftover from when I broke my wrist.”

“Don’t tempt me. Dean…I’m such a…fuck, I’m sorry.”

“I know. It’s okay.” Dean patted his brother’s leg and stood up to close the curtains. “When you want food let me know. I’ll make whatever you want, out of whatever is in your kitchen.”

“ _Our_ kitchen.”

Dean paused as his hand hovered over light switch. “You need anything else right now?”

“No. Thanks. Wait. One more thing. I need to ask you a question. Something else is really fucking bugging me and I won’t be able to sleep ‘tiI get out of my system.”

“What?”

“Apparently Castiel paid for dad’s arrangements. Without asking you or me. Are you okay with that?”

Dean froze as he considered the question for a few moments. “Should I _not_ be okay with it? I mean, dude is loaded. Hardly a drop in the bucket for him.”

Sam frowned. “Right.”

“He’s doing us a favor. That’s all. Hell, that means less money out of our pockets, which also means I can finally write that check for what I owe you. When we get paid Friday, I mean.”

Sam bit back a rude retort and nodded. “Okay. You can have my laptop back.”

“You don’t mind?”

“No. Take it.”

“Thanks. I’ll make sure to clear the history afterwards, don’t worry.” He winked playfully, but Sam just ignored him and turned over in bed. Dean frowned, then shut the door after a moment and gloomily went back out to the dining room to sign his paperwork.

\----------

**TUESDAY**

Dean was in higher spirits than he had been in years when he arrived at Novak Arts Center on Tuesday morning, even though Sam was still smarting and grumpy from the thorough dressing down he had received from Castiel on Monday.  He still had a job, though, and so did Dean, and that was huge.

“Hey Sammy, can you drop me off in front? I don’t want to be late.”

“Late? Maybe if you crawled all the way there from the parking lot you’d be late. We’re super early.”

“That’s okay. I need coffee. Come on.”

Sam pulled over to the curb with a sigh. “Fine. Go. See you at ten.”

He was right, it was too early. Dean made his way to Castiel’s office; the door was nearly closed and there were several people inside. After loitering for a few moments, Dean could make out Chuck’s voice first, then Michael’s, then Bobby’s. He started to walk away, but then he heard Bobby say his name, which made him freeze in his tracks.

_“-as far as Dean goes, on the surface of it. Sam, too.”_

_“I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. You should have never jumped the gun on promoting them as brothers.” That was Chuck. “We would have never sold so many tickets otherwise, and you’d have a fallback option for marketing once-”_

_“I know,” Castiel interrupted. “Thank you for the constant reminder of your infinite wisdom. Let’s get back on track, please. We have to come up with a back-up plan.”_

_Chuck scoffed a little. “Why waste time? Replace him now. We all know he’s never going to make it to the tour. He’s one compliment away from jumping in front of a bus.”_

_“That’s enough,” Castiel snapped. “Bobby, have you been in contact with Benny?_

_“Yeah, sent him the music as you asked. Listen, I think you all oughta cut Dean some slack. The kid-”_

_“He’s not a kid!” Michael interrupted. “He’s a seriously troubled, fully-grown adult male who makes terrible decisions and is going to cost this organization a shitload of money. Not least because of all the bad press we’ve already gotten.”_

Dean stiffened at those horrible words, then nearly shit himself as the door swung open and he suddenly found himself face to face with Castiel. 

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hi! Uh, I, I was-”

“Eavesdropping, yes. Come in.”

Dean couldn’t move, or breathe. “How...how did you know?”

“I heard your ankle monitor buzz. Come in.”

Dean followed him in, numb from head to toe. The other men were watching him curiously, but without any kind of scorn or distaste. In fact...pity. Yes, that’s what it was. _Fuck._

“I’m so sorry,” Dean sputtered. “I think I, I came too early for our meeting, I was about to go, but…”

“You heard your name and decided to listen in.”

Dean just looked at Castiel wordlessly, wishing at the same time a hole would open up in the floor and swallow him in. 

“You have your Guadagnini with you. Good. Play for us.”

Dean looked down at the case in his hand, the one that held the gorgeous million-dollar instrument. “Uh. Where? When?”

“Here. Now. The Bach partita you first played for me.”

“Sir, I...I should go,” Dean said quickly, before the lumps in his throat could cut off his voice. “I mean, I get it, you all...you’re not wrong, Michael.”

“Play the partita,” Castiel said firmly. “We’re waiting.”

Feeling like he was in some kind of bizarre dream, Dean set the case on the desk and popped open the clasps. He heard Castiel tell Bobby to turn off the lights, and the room suddenly darkened slightly. But not a lot; it was quite sunny outside.

He fumbled and dropped his shoulder rest, then his rosin, but finally managed to lift the violin to his chin with trembling hands.

“I don’t know how good I’m gonna be right now,” he admitted quietly, looking straight at Castiel. “I’m a nervous wreck.”

“Really? But there are only four of us.”

Dean laughed nervously. “Yeah, but...four of _you_ equals like a million normal people...never mind. Here I go.”

“Close your eyes while you play, if you want. Don’t even think about us.”

“Yes, sir. I’m gonna, um...rather than doing that, I’m gonna turn my back to you guys, if that’s ok.”

“As wish you wish.”

Dean faced the windows and took a breath so deep that it hurt his chest. He wasn’t sure if this was a test, if his job depended on it; or if Castiel was having some kind of sadistic episode and delighting in making him suffer before firing him on the spot. Either way, it was probably his last chance to play the Guadagnini. 

Just as he was about to play the first note he spotted his brother crossing through the side yard next to Castiel’s office with his cello in one hand and a green smoothie in the other, looking as serious as a heart attack. Sam spotted him a few moments later and playfully shot him the middle finger and stuck out his tongue.

Dean grinned, shot the bird back at him, then set the bow back on the strings. _Ah well_ . _Nothing to lose now, so might as well play the hell out of this thing before I have to give it back..._

\--------

**SIX WEEKS LATER**

“Holy shit, Sam. My ankle feels, like...so weird! I can’t explain it.”

Sam laughed. “You’re walking like you just got off a horse after a trail ride.”

“Remember when dad took us deep-sea fishing on the charter boat near San Diego? None of us could walk for like a whole day without falling over. That’s what I feel like.”

“Was it really that heavy?”

“Not heavy, just...always conscious of it. Got used to it.” He walked around the little room in the police station some more, feeling both giddy and a little disconcerted as he shook his leg out like a dog shaking water off. 

Bela walked in with an amused expression and handed him a copy of the form he’d just signed.

“All set. Congratulations on regaining your freedom. I want to remind you that you’re still on probation for another 28 months.”

“Yes, ma’am, I know.”

“Even a single violation will put you in jail. Do you have what I asked for?”

“Yes ma’am.” Dean handed over the written agreement he had been required to copy word-for-word from his sentencing guidelines. It had taken almost two days, and now he could never plead ignorance if he got in trouble again. 

“Excellent, thank you. Unless you have any questions, you’re free to go. Wait, I forgot to give you the business card to the impound lot where your car is being held.”

Dean took the card without mentioning he didn’t want the Taurus anymore. He fucking loved the Impala and couldn’t wait to get behind her wheel.

“Sam, could you give us a minute?” Dean asked quietly. Sam nodded and left. 

Bela was looking at Dean expectantly. “Yes, Dean?”

“I don’t want to take any more of your time, Ms. Talbot. It’s just...wow, this is awkward. I’ve been such a prick to you at times, especially in the beginning of all this. I’m so sorry. If you hadn’t waited to have my warrant issued by Nevada, I’d still be in jail. I thought at first that was Castiel’s doing, so I never really thanked you for that.”

“You’re welcome.”

Dean nodded. “Without your intervention, my case never would have been dropped, because it would have been picked up by California instead-”

“And it would have been an automatic felony here. Yes, Dean, I know. Avoiding that was the whole point.”

“Sorry. I owe you so much, and...just wanted you to know how much I appreciate you. You never gave up on me.”

“Actually I did, but you managed to redeem yourself at the last second.”

Dean blushed a little. “Anyway, when we play at the Disney Concert Hall in November, will you and your fiance be my guests of honor? Front row seats and everything.”

Bela smiled a little. “Of course. Thank you. What do you and Sam have planned today?”

“We’re going to pick up my tux for the photo shoot with Rolling Stone, then I’m going swimming as soon as we get back to the house. I’ve been dying to jump in his pool for...well, four months. So fucking glad the monitor is off now.”

Bela nodded, then got serious again. “Dean? For your own good, stay away from any kind of alcohol. I mean it. One drink and it could be all over.”

“Well not _one_ drink. But yeah. I hear you.”

“Hmmm. I’m five years sober as of last week. Took three tries to get this far. It’s going to be a lot harder than you think, trust me.”

Dean was flabbergasted. “Wait...what? _You?_ ”

“Yes, me. It can happen to anyone, you know. Even the good girls.”

“Yeah. Congratulations.” Dean stuck out his hand and was grateful that Bela actually shook it. 

“Again, I’m sorry for being such a shit. You have no idea how much I regret that.”

“You can make it up to me by not putting me through any of this again. You nearly gave me an ulcer several times over. Mostly because Castiel called me every damned day for three months, so for that reason alone I’m thrilled this is all over.”

“I know. Cas is amazing. I’m moving into his guest house on Saturday.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah. I can’t wait to tell Sam. He’s got a new girlfriend, so he’ll be relieved to have me out of the house.”

Bela’s smile fell off, but she didn’t say what she was thinking. “I’m sure you’re right. Best of luck, Dean.”


	91. Chapter 91

“You’re doing _what_?” Sam asked again in disbelief, after Dean had already repeated himself once already. 

“I just said it. Twice."

“Wait. How did this happen?”

Dean pulled himself out of the pool and started to towel off. “It just kinda happened. I was telling Cas about my old apartment and how I need to find a new one.”

“Wait, you call him _Cas_ now? And he _lets_ you? Since when?” Sam was staring at Dean like he had three heads.

“Since...I don’t know. Just because you lost the privilege to do it doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be able to.”

“Okay. I just...wow.”

Dean towel-dried his hair as he talked. “It’s not my fault. Don’t look at me like that. Anyway. You should be happy I’m moving out, since I won’t be hanging around the house to get in the way of you and Amelia-”

“Dean, _wait_.” Sam set his drink down and threw his legs over the side of the chaise lounge. “I just...he’s our boss. That’s fucking awkward. I mean. How much rent is he charging?”

Dean suddenly looked like a deer caught in the headlights. “Um.”

“Oh my god. No. You’re not moving into our boss’s house for free,” Sam insisted firmly.

Dean threw his towel at his brother with a grin. “You’re just jealous. Admit it.”

Sam ripped the wet towel off his head angrily and threw it back at Dean so hard that a corner of it snapped him in the eye as he caught it.

“Ow! Sam!”

Sam stomped into the house, so Dean followed him through the sliding glass door that was slammed shut in his face.

“Dude. Calm the fuck down. Why are you being such a drama queen?”

“Whatever, Dean. Do what you want. You’ve been free for like two hours and already he’s...never mind. Forget it.”

“Speaking of free,” Dean shot back, “don’t ever tell me again what I can and can’t do. Never worked before, definitely not gonna work now. Fuck, Sam. We haven’t fought in weeks. And yeah, I’m free. Fucking finally. I’ve been looking forward to this day for 120 days! Why do you always have to piss on my parade?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I said forget it. Get dressed. We have an appointment at the bank in one hour.”

——-

Dean and Sam both held their breaths as the little deposit box - about half the size of a shoebox - was taken out of the vault and laid down on the desk in front of them. The clerk then left the room in order to afford the brothers the privacy that all box holders were entitled to when they retrieved or deposited their items.

The door click overly loud in the starkness of the room, and Dean shuddered slightly as the memory of the jail cell door clicking roared back in a flash. It sounded almost identical.

“We should have made bets on what’s in there,” Dean said casually, his tone masking his deeply held anxiety.

Sam ignored him and reached over to pull up the lid. The first item on the top was the deed to the Impala, signed over to Dean, as expected. Sam set it aside and reached in for the next paper. Last will & testament, a copy just in case the original got lost. More papers came out next and were slowly unfolded. Life insurance paperwork. 

“I didn’t know dad had life insurance. Why didn’t this come up sooner? Oh. Shit. Holy fuck.”

Dean peered over his hand and gasped. Half a million bucks. “Oh my god.”

Sam grunted. “If he left this all to you, I’m gonna dig him up and kill him again.”

“Don’t say that. Look at the second page,” Dean urged, and that’s where they found information on beneficiaries. The money was divided up three times; 35% to Sam, 35% to Dean, and 30% to...

“Who the fuck is Adam Milligan?” they said together as they stared at each other uncomprehendingly.

“There’s another page, Sam. See if that explains it.”

It explained, it all right. Boy, did it explain it. The brothers read it together silently. Numbly. In Dean’s case, somewhat amusedly.

“Holy shit. Dad had a one night stand, huh?”

Sam swallowed hard. “This doesn’t say it was a one night stand. Could have been years long. How would we know?”

“Dude. Look at his age. He was born when I was eleven and you were seven. Why didn’t dad tell us?”

“Seriously? Only a million reasons I can think of off the bat.” Sam set the papers on top of the car deed. There were two plain white jewelry boxes left in the box, nothing else. This was it, the end of the mystery.

“Um. Guess we should open them both together. I’m a nervous wreck,” admitted Dean.

“Me too. My guess is this is some of mom’s jewelry.”

He was partially correct. Two rings, simple but elegant, with a note inside each box. Their parents’ engagement rings. Dad had been buried in his wedding band, and mom in hers. Neither brother knew these two rings existed, nor how long they had been in the box.

“You got a Kleenex, Sam?” Dean sniffled after a few long moments.

Sam ran his sleeve across his eyes. “Nope.”

They stared at the rings together, the life insurance policy and new half-brother all but forgotten.

“This one is dad’s,” Dean finally said after they had both partially recovered their wits. 

“You should have mom’s, since I don’t remember her. Here.”

“You sure?” 

“Yeah. Trade me. I mean, if you’re okay with that.”

“Yep.”

They swapped boxes, then put the rings on. Both were too small.

“We’ll stop at Zale’s on the way home to get them resized,” Sam said decisively.

Silence again, then Dean’s murmured observation a minute later. “This is not the bet I would’ve made, just saying. I thought for sure we’d open up the box to find giant wads of cash. Not a giant can of worms.”

“Same here. Don’t get too excited about the life insurance. Who knows if he kept it current. I’ll find out. There’s a phone number for Adam’s mom. You’re the oldest, so it’s your duty to call and tell them his dad passed.”

“ _Our_ dad. Gee. Thanks. Looking forward to it.”

Sam grimaced. “I need air. I have an idea. Let’s get the hell out of here as fast as we can.”

——

Dean woke up later that day to a very angry, almost purple brother barging into his room around 8pm.

“What the fuck?” Dean moaned. “Fire?”

“No. The fucking life insurance policy is invalid. You know why? Missed payment, and his death wasn’t reported to them within 30 days. So it was canceled.”

Dean’s heart fell from his chest into the mattress. “Well fuck, Sam. It’s not like we even knew it existed.”

“We would have! If you hadn’t been…”

Dean struggled to sit up and clutched his pillow to his chest. His head was swimming a little. If he hadn’t been under house arrest, they could have gone to the bank sooner. Bela hadn’t granted permission for that particular errand, unfortunately.

“Can we appeal?” he croaked.

“What do _you_ think? Would I be this pissed if we could?”

“Did you talk to Michael?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? This is none of his business. Don’t you dare tell him or Castiel about this.”

Sam stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Dean quickly did the math in his head...no wonder Sam was pissed. They were out $175,000 each.

Dean picked his cell phone off the charger and immediately dialed Castiel.

\--------

**Saturday**

“The Impala doesn’t carry much. I’m going to have to make a few trips.”

Sam flipped over the bacon in the pan, then stirred the oatmeal.

“Still not talking to me, huh?”

Dean was hoping Sam would help him move, but he knew he wouldn’t get the offer. Sam hadn’t spoken to him in four days. Not a single word, except in front of Castiel during rehearsal. They were getting very good at hiding their arguments after what had happened the last time they fought at the center.

“Can I borrow your Charger for-”

“Why don’t you ask your sugar daddy to buy you a truck?”

Dean sighed and trudged back into the garage to grab another box. He was determined not to stoop to Sam’s level, but it was getting harder and harder by the hour.

\---------

**Sunday**

“So...my name is. Um. Dean Winchester. Do you know who I am?”

Pause on the other line. “Winchester?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m John’s son. His oldest. Sam’s my brother, he’s the youngest.”

“Why are you calling me?”

Dean took a deep breath and watched Hannah, Castiel’s dog, race across the grass in pursuit of a squirrel. It was strange that he hadn’t gotten the courage to call Adam until just now, probably at the worst possible time, while he was roaming around in the huge backyard with a storm threatening to drench him and his new iPhone X. A few sprinkles were starting to fall, so he turned and headed back to the guest house.

“I, um...sorry to inform you, ma’am, but...one second, sorry.” He covered the phone up with his hand and called Hannah to him to make her stop barking. “I’m sorry to inform you that he’s passed away. Almost two months ago. I didn’t call sooner because...well, that’s a long story.”

“How old are you?” the woman asked eventually.

“26. Sam is 22.” Dean knew she was doing the math in her head, too, meaning she probably didn’t know about John’s other boys. Or...maybe she did? “Did you know about me and Sam, ma’am?”

“Thank you for calling me, Dean. I’m sorry for your loss. He was a good man.”

“Wait-”

The woman hung up. Dean immediately dialed her back. Straight to voicemail, which hadn’t been set up. He couldn’t even leave a message. So he texted her instead.

_-Can we please talk_

_-Blocking you now_

_-Wait. I don’t want anything from you. Just five minutes_

 No answer.

_-Mrs. Milligan?_

Dean’s phone rang in his hand, startling him so bad that he dropped it onto the grass. Hannah was dancing at his feet as he bent down to pick it up, begging him to throw her ball. Unknown number. What the hell?

“This is Dean.”

“Hey, bro.”

“Sam..?”

“Nope. Your other bro.”

Dean stopped in his tracks. “Hi,” he responded calmly, although his heart was racing faster than the squirrel that Hannah had just chased. 

“Thanks for calling about dad. We knew. Heard it in the news.”

 _Breathe, Dean. Breathe._ “Um. Okay. I’m sorry. Does your mom know you’re calling me?”

“No. She doesn’t even know I have your number.”

Dean still couldn’t move. “What...wait, what’s going here? I’m so confused. I talked to her less than thirty seconds ago.”

“I know. I handed her phone to her and saw the caller ID. Photographic memory. Just wanted to say I’m sorry for your loss. Our loss, rather.”

Dean shook his head and reached down to grab Hannah’s tennis ball from her mouth.

“Okay. So...are you alright? I...shit, I don’t know what to say. This is so awkward.”

“I’m fine. I’ve gotta go, though.”

“Wait, Adam. Have you known about me and Sam all along?”

Pause. “What do you mean by _all along_?”

“I mean...how long have you known you had half brothers?”

“Um. Always? I…always asked dad to call you when we were together, but he wouldn’t do it.”

“Did he ever consider it, at least?” Dean asked incredulously.

“No. My stepfather had some kind of disagreement with him. I think they beat each other up once. No one really told me what happened.”

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Adam’s father must have learned he was the product of an affair with John Winchester. _Fuck._ So much for getting to know the kid. He and Sam wouldn’t be able to get within a hundred feet of him, most likely.

“I’m sorry. If I knew you were around...I’d never have _not_ called you. You know that, right? I hope you know that. Where do you guys live?”

“I gotta go, Dean. Say hi to Sam for me.”

Dean was numb. “Hey, wait, um...check out the next issue of Rolling Stone next month. Sam and me, we got interviewed for it. My first time in a magazine. Sam’s second.” Dean was so nervous that he was just talking without even realizing what he was saying. 

“I have a famous brother? That’s cool.”

“Not yet. We’re musicians, and we’re going on tour. I’ll get you some comp tickets. I want to meet you.”

“Rufus would never let me go. Sorry. Bye, Dean. Good luck with the tour.”

He hung up.

\---------

_\- Sam. Why aren’t you fucking calling me? Stop being a child!_

_\---------_

**Monday**

“Good morning, Dean.”

“Good morning, sir,” Dean answered formally as he set his violin case down on the stage. 

“Something wrong?” Castiel asked as he opened the lid to his piano and set the music on the stand. 

“No, sorry. Just a little sleepy.”

“Hope you slept well? The bed in the guesthouse is more comfortable than mine, and three times as expensive.”

Dean shook himself out of his reverie with a jolt. He had to bring his attention to this stage, here and now, lest his distractability make him appear ungrateful. “It’s great, Cas. Too good. Slept like a baby. That’s why I’m having trouble waking up, I guess.”

Castiel cocked his head. “Babies actually sleep very poorly. That saying is very misleading.”

“Yeah. I remember Sam never slept more than two hours at a time. Kept us all awake.”

“Hmm. Any news about the life insurance?”

“Not yet. They said we’d hear back by the end of the week. Um, Cas, I...Sam doesn’t know that I asked for your help with that. If you and Michael could just, you know, _not_ say anything? I’d really appreciate it.”

“Can’t speak for Michael, but I’m not going to lie if it comes up.”

“Fair enough.”

Dean picked up his violin and plucked it. Out of tune again. The instrument sounded beautiful, yes, but it needed constant attention and care. He missed Charlie suddenly.

“Why are you hiding it from him?” Castiel asked after a few moments.

“Long story. On another note, you’ll be happy to know that Chuck finally gave me my weekly schedule without bitching me out for a change.”

“Good. Let me know if he gives you attitude again so l have another chat with him.”

“Will do. Hey, Sammy,” Dean said just as his brother appeared through the stage door.

“Good morning,” came the mumbled reply.

Bobby walked in behind him, then Chuck, then Gabriel.

“Hail, hail, the gang’s all here,” Dean said cheekily. He was a little giddy suddenly, and all three men looked at him strangely. 

Castiel stood up and handed Bobby a book of sheet music. “As promised. I’d prefer if you sit more towards the back this time.”

“Oh my god,” Dean blurted suddenly as he turned bright pink. “I forgot my music. I’m so sorry.”

Castiel looked at him. “The new music?”

“No, the...the entire folder. I left it at the house. I’m sorry, I’m such an idiot.”

“That’s alright. Gabe, go get him some copies of the pieces we’re working on today, please. We’ll work on the new piece in the meantime.”

Dean looked at Gabriel sheepishly and mouthed _I’m sorry._ In return, he got a glare that nearly pinned him to the floor. Castiel didn’t notice.

Sam huffed a little - just barely, but enough to show his displeasure. “Last time I forgot my music, I got docked half a day’s pay,” he said matter-of-factly. “And I had to go get the copies myself.”

“That’s because you did it twice in a row,” Dean snorted.

“Focus, gentlemen,” Castiel warned them mildly. “Let’s get started.”

\-------------

Sam didn’t sit down with Dean in the cafeteria, as expected. Dean was alone, again, for the fourth day. He was starting to get a little paranoid that maybe everyone was talking about them sitting several tables apart, almost in different rooms. People must have noticed by now, surely..? He could barely eat his food at the thought of it.

Then he picked up his tray decisively and plopped himself uninvited into the booth where his brother was moping and picking at his food.

“Hey Sammy.”

“What do you want?”

Dean decided to just jump into it without preamble. “I talked to Adam. Cool kid. Wanna hear about it?”

Sam set his sandwich down. “Not right now.”

“From what I gathered, his mom was having an affair with dad. He knew about us, but wasn’t allowed to call us. Me, rather. Did it on his own.”

“When were you going to tell me Castiel hired a lawyer to fight the life insurance thing?”

Dean nearly dropped his drink. “I…”

“I filed an appeal and got an email letting me know ‘my’ lawyer had been in contact and already filed it days earlier. Imagine my surprise.”

“Fine. Yeah, I did. Sorry, I’m just trying to help. I just know how pissed you were at me, and I was trying to fix it. Fucking sue me.”

They stared at each other angrily, and Dean suddenly had the feeling that the table between them was as wide as the Pacific ocean.

“Did you get fined for forgetting your music?” Sam asked.

“No.”

“Caned?”

“No. Thank god. Wait. Why do I have the feeling you’d love to see me get my ass beat, for some reason?”

Sam huffed again and picked up his tray. “Well, I’m not the only one. Let’s just put it that way. I gotta go. See you later.”

He left, and Dean stared after him with a confused expression.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering what's going on, I'm being purposely vague...long story short, in case it's not obvious, Dean is now "teacher's pet" and the others are jealous. This will be fleshed out next chapter.


	92. Chapter 92

“Hey Chuck,” Dean greeted airily as he called Castiel’s manager while driving out of the parking lot. “Sorry, I completely forgot to tell you that Cas asked me to come to you for copies of the tour schedule. Can you make them?”

“I emailed the file to you yesterday.”

“I know, but he wants three copies. I’ll swing by in the morning before rehearsal to grab them.”

Chuck replied stiffly, “Or you can just print them yourself. I’m not your secretary.”

“Yeah, I know that. This isn’t my request. It’s Cas asking for them.”

“You had plenty of time to do it today. You were in the library for two hours.”

Dean nearly ran a red light in his preoccupation with the surly man on the other end of the line. “Yeah, but I was working on something, not just goofing around. Look, I...sorry, I have like a hundred errands to run tonight, and there’s no printer in the guesthouse.”

“Oh, I see. What kind of errands?”

Dean frowned. “Going to a jewelry store, getting some groceries. Why?”

“Oh, Zales? The one on San Vicente boulevard?”

“Yep.”

“There’s a Kinko’s two doors down from it. That’s where you can get your copies. Don’t forget to submit an expense report within 72 hours. Bye, Dean.”

Dean stared down at his phone in shock as the call disconnected. “What the fuck? Dude.”

He called Chuck back at the next red light.

“Chuck? Did you not hear the part where I said this request came from Cas?”

“Yeah, and did you not hear the part where I said do it yourself?”

“But he-”

“Did he specifically say that I had to print it out myself? No, he didn’t. I’m really busy, Dean, I’m actually working right now and not bopping around town to buy jewelry and expecting everyone else to do my job for me.”

Dean shook his head. “That’s not what...forget it. Thank you for your time.”

Now Sam was calling, and Dean’s heart leaped in joy as he changed over to the call waiting.

“Hey Sammy!”

“Hey. I need the number for Adam’s mom. Do you have it with you?”

“Yeah, hang on. Just about to park. What’s going on?”

Dean heard Sam talking to someone else but couldn’t make out the words; apparently Sam was covering the phone’s mic with his hand.

“Sam?”

There was a very long delay before Sam finally came back to the phone.

“Sorry. What a clusterfuck,” he sighed.

“What? What’s happening?”

“Adam’s mom just joined the fray. We’re all fighting over that life insurance money now.”

“How did she know about it?”

Sam took a deep breath. “The lawyer Castiel hired got a hold of her, so she lawyered up in response. I talked to her for like three minutes to try to get her to work with us, instead of against us, and she refused.”

“What?” Dean asked in confusion. “ _Against_ us? Why?”

“Yeah. Well, she’s suing us. This is a fucking nightmare.”

“What the actual fuck? Explain this to me in plain English, please. Like I’m five.”

“You’ll love this. She’s the one who’s been making payments on it. She has proof she mailed the most recent one, but that’s not the problem. She didn’t know about dad’s death until you called her Sunday, so she’s saying we are the responsible ones for not reporting it in time. That it’s our fault the policy is now invalid, and that we need to pony up .”

Dean shook his head. “We didn’t know about it! And besides, Adam told me they knew he was dead, that they saw it on the news. There is no fucking way she found out from me.”

“Then she’s lying. At any rate, she’s blaming us for not getting the paperwork sooner and reporting his death.”

Dean’s head was pounding, and he felt like vomiting suddenly. 

“Which I’m sure everyone’s going to blame on me.”

“Well, the box was under your name. And the reason we couldn’t go open it was because of your DUI. Your _third_ DUI. So yeah, we’re blaming you.”

“Fucking great. So why do you need her number? You said you already talked to her?”

Sam said something to whoever was nearby, then came back on the line. “Yeah, I was conferenced in. I want to call her myself now, with no lawyers listening in.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

“Do you prefer to get sued? Shit, I’m still fighting with that damned lawyer that sued me and dad. I can’t afford to fight on two fronts right now.”

“Who are you with, anyway?”

“The lawyer Castiel hired, dumbass. Who do you think I’m with? Anyway, she’s demanding the full 150 grand and no less.”

Dean felt his blood boil a little. “Don’t call me a dumbass.”

“Do you prefer shithead instead, or maybe fucking idiot? I’m open to suggestions.”

Dean hung up the phone, then felt his eyes stinging. He was parked directly in front of Kinko’s, but he got out and went into Zales with his order ticket to pick up the rings.

He felt slightly calmer as he slipped mom’s ring over his knuckle. “It’s perfect,” he said to the jeweler. “Thank you. How much do I owe you for both?”

“Eighty dollars,” said the man. “You okay, son?”

Dean looked up; the man had kind eyes and was clearly concerned and not just being nosy.

“No,” Dean admitted. “This is, uh….my mom’s ring. She died when I was four. And that’s my dad’s. He died in May.”

“Sorry to hear. Lots of memories in those rings, huh?”

“Thank you. No, not really. I didn’t know about them until a few days ago.”

“Oh.”

Dean pulled out his wallet and pulled out two fifty dollar bills. “Yeah. So I’m not really upset for sentimental reasons. I, um...I just learned I’m getting sued,” he blurted suddenly. 

“That’s not good. You want to talk about it? Not like I’m busy right now.” He gestured around the empty store.

 _Yes. Please._ “No, thanks. I….sorry, didn’t mean to dump this on you. I just learned like two minutes ago. My dad’s former lover trying to collect on his life insurance. You know how it goes. Greed is what makes the world go round.”

“Sadly, yes.”

“And I’m also pissed because I basically just got shit on by my boss’s manager and my own brother. Separate incidents. They’re both colossal, elitist assholes and nothing I do will ever be good enough for them.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because I’ve fucked up a few times. Okay, so many times. I mean, in the last six weeks I’ve been a perfect angel, but guess you can’t escape the past. Chuck in particular...fuck, I’m sorry. You don’t even know me, and here I am blabbing my whole life to you.”

“It’s alright. Please tell me you’re in some kind of therapy.”

“Yeah, but I haven’t kept it up at all. My boss is paying for it, and if he finds out I’m not going...he’d...never mind.” Dean started to hand over the cash, then changed his mind. “Actually, let me give you a credit card instead. Sorry, need that cash.”

“No problem.”

Dean handed his Visa over and the man instantly did a double take.

“Dean Winchester? You play the violin, by any chance?”

Dean froze. “How did you...do I know you?”

The man grimaced. “Uh, no. Sorry, I just...wow, this is awkward. I’m actually Chuck’s partner.”

“Oh. Fuck.” So that’s how Chuck knew exactly where the Zales was. Dean felt like running into the street in front of a bus, but he forced himself to stay still as the man processed the credit card. Everything felt like it was slow motion all of a sudden.

“Sign here.” 

The empathy the man had previously radiated was gone and replaced by a coollness that Dean did not like, and for which he suddenly felt a deep foreboding.

Dean took the pen. “I would...obviously appreciate if you could refrain from telling Chuck what I just told you.”

“Thank you for your business.”

 _Well, shit_. That was the end of that. Dean felt a lump rising in his throat. “Thank you. Have a good day.”

He went out and drove home in a daze, having forgotten all about going to Kinko’s to make copies of the tour schedule.

\----------

“Not going to your therapy sessions, huh? Castiel’s gonna love that.”

Dean closed his eyes briefly. “Please. I’m begging you not to tell him. I just managed to win his favor after all this time, and it would ruin literally everything.”

“Spare me the sob story. You’ve always had his favor. And now you want me to print the schedules for you, too?”

Dean glanced behind him again to make sure the door was really closed all the way. “Yes. Can you please just do it, and I’ll come back after rehearsal to discuss this further and kiss your ass as much as I have to in order to win _your_ favor?”

“We can talk while I’m printing them out. It’s going to take some time. Sit down.”

Dean did. “I don’t know what you have against me, Chuck, but whatever it is, I’ll make it right.”

“Call me sir, please, from now on. That’s just for starters.”

“Uh...yes, sir.”

“Thank you. So last night you learned it’s a small world. That’s why you should always be careful what you tell strangers. Just heard I’m an elitist asshole. Not very creative. I’ve heard better.”

 _You’re much worse than that_. But Dean wasn’t going to confirm it until the schedules were safely in his hand.

“I was upset,” he said in a conciliatory tone. “Things were all going wrong for me yesterday. I’m getting sued by my dad’s former lover. I’m sure your partner explained to you?”

Before Chuck could reply there was a knock on the door and it instantly opened; Dean and Chuck jumped to their feet.

“Yes, boss?” Chuck greeted deferentially.

“There you are, Dean. I need the copies of the tour schedule.”

“Printing them now for him, at his request,” Chuck answered.

Castiel looked at Dean. “Just now? I asked for them two days ago.”

“Uh, yes, sir.” _Oh shit._ “The delay is a bit of a long story.”

“I don’t care. It’s not acceptable.”

“I…” Dean looked to Chuck, who shrugged. “But last night, I was-”

“Bring them to me as soon as they’re done printing.”

The door shut, and Dean sank back into his chair and willed his heart to stop beating so fast. It pissed him off that Chuck was smirking as he studied his monitor screen.

“Last copy coming out now. Suppose you need my stapler, too.”

“What do you think?”

Chuck raised his eyebrows in response, no words needed.

“Yes, sir, please. If you would be so kind,” Dean amended. “What do I have to do to keep you from telling him I haven’t been going to therapy? I’ll do anything. Please.”

“Now that I know, I can’t _not_ tell him. That would be a complete violation of his trust. Sorry, Dean. You’re fucked. I mean, you can tell him first before I do. That’s the only way he’s not finding out from me.”

\--------

Castiel sat stony-faced and wordless at his desk as Dean finished explaining (almost in tears) what had happened the previous evening with Sam, and with Chuck’s partner in Zales, and then all about his subsequent conversation with Chuck a few minutes ago. He didn’t leave anything out, not a word. He was fully prepared to be caned into next week and be thrown out of the guesthouse to boot, but that didn’t make it any easier.

“Okay, Dean,” Castiel said eventually after he had digested what he was hearing. “I understand. You’ve explained thoroughly. I don’t have any questions to ask, so we’re just going to move forward and deal with the consequences now. Are we agreed?”

Dean nodded. He was legitmately scared.

“First things first. You didn’t give me the copies of the tour schedule promptly. I don’t ask you for much, but when I do ask you to do something, I expect you to do it without delay.  Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir. I should have done it while I was in the library yesterday.”

“Yes, you should have. So don’t let it happen again. Secondly, going around telling strangers that my manager is an _elitist asshole_ is entirely unacceptable, no matter if the person knows you or not. I don’t even want to know what you’ve said about me. Are we clear on that as well?”

“Yes, sir. I’ve never said anything bad about you, ever.”

“Glad to hear. I want you to write Chuck an apology letter and give it to him within 48 hours. Moving on to skipping therapy sessions that I’ve prepaid for.”

Dean swallowed hard. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Let me talk. I already knew you were skipping them weeks ago, and I’ve been waiting for you to ‘fess up. I knew that if I asked you directly, you would have lied about it, making it a bigger problem than it is now.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. So you’re going to start that back up right away, and you’re going to pay me back for the ones you’ve missed, because I can’t get a credit for them.”

“Yes, sir, of course. Please just let me know how much.”

“You can call them and ask. _Today_ , not in two days, and don’t ask Chuck to do it for you.”

Dean nodded.

“Now for the hardest part. You’ll have to accept that I’m not going to cane you for any of this.”

“What? I mean…”

“That’s correct,” Castiel said quietly. “You had a shitty day yesterday, you have a shitty brother every day, I have a shitty manager, and you had...sorry to say it, but you and Sam had a shitty father. I’m not going to punish you for skipping therapy, because you never lied to me about it. But I will if you ever skip it again, and I mean it.”

“Sir....I’ve never heard you swear before,” Dean blurted unthinkingly. “Sorry, I mean. I’m confused.”

“Yes, I see that. Let me spell it out clearly. I forgive you, Dean, for everything. Now I’m ordering you to forgive yourself and move on. That’s your punishment, and I have a feeling it will be harder to deal with than the cane.”

He wasn’t wrong. Dean had actually looked forward to receiving his retribution and cleansing himself of guilt, but now…he was actually left speechless for several long moments.

“I don’t….know what to say. What do I do about Chuck, now? He hates me.”

“Don’t worry about him. I’ve been wanting to get rid of him for years. Long overdue.”

Dean felt like his chest was on fire all of a sudden. “No, sir, please...not because of me.”

“Don’t be vain. You’re only the needle in the haystack.”

“What? I think...I think you mean the straw that broke the camel’s back?”

“Yes, that. I do tend to get my metaphors mixed up.”

“No,” Dean repeated. “Sam and Gabriel and Michael will think you’re doing it for me.”

“They’ll be mistaken. This isn’t a negotation, Dean. It’s going to be done. Your phone is ringing.”

“It’s okay. It’s just Sam.”

“Take it. I’ve got to go back to work and get a few things done before rehearsal. Close the door behind you.”

Dean went out numbly, not even noticing how he had to check every pocket for his phone.

“Yeah?” he answered hoarsely.

“Hey. On the way to the concert hall. So I’m an elitist asshole now, huh?”

“Oh my god. Fucking Chuck!” Dean moaned. “But yeah, since you asked, what I said was that you are a _colossal,_ elitist asshole. You always have been, and you know it.”

Silence.

“Hello?” Dean asked timidly.

“Where are you?”

“Why, are you going to come kick my ass or something?”

“No. Get us a conference room.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

“Wait a sec.” Dean went further down the hall and looked; most were occupied. Then he found one.

“7A.”

“Seventy? Where’s that?”

“No. Seven A. I’m inside.”

“K. Be right there.”

Sam hung up, and Dean found himself trembling a little while he waited. This was all too much. It was always too much, his entire life was too much. Or had never been enough, one or the other. Probably both. He saw Castiel pass by the room and sighed. Sam was coming down the same hall. There was no way they wouldn’t stop and talk.

Except...they didn’t. In fact, they completely ignored each other. 

“Sam?” Dean asked as his brother came in. “You...are you not talking to Cas?”

“Nope. Listen, um. A lot’s happened since yesterday. You won’t fucking believe this, but our appeal was granted.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I’m in shock.” Sam reached into his messenger bag and silently handed Dean a piece of paper.

“This is...fuck, Sam. This is a check for…holy shit. Are you serious?”

“Yeah.” He grinned.

“How?”

“That lawyer Castiel hired. Shit, what an unstoppable force. All thanks to you. If you hadn’t told Castiel…I mean, I was mad at first, but...you’re awesome!”

“I am?”

“Yeah. Sorry I was such a pain about it. You gotta agree though, I wasn’t exactly wrong about whose fault it was. But maybe I was a little too harsh.”

Dean nodded, his heart seizing up a little. “I see. So you’re gonna be nice to me now, because you got your money. Not because I’m like, you know, your _brother_ , or whatever.”

“Oh come on. It’s not like that.”

“Yeah it is. Always has been. You know what? Go fuck yourself, Sam. Don’t talk to me anymore.”

Dean stuffed the check into his pocket and stalked out of the room.


	93. Chapter 93

If Dean Winchester was anyone but Dean Winchester, he would have been thrilled and relieved to have avoided another thrashing and be allowed to go on his way, all forgiveness granted. But Dean, being Dean, lay awake three nights in a row, tossing and turning and drowning under the guilt of having gotten away Scot-free from what he considered to be a justifiably thrashable crime. 

Sam, in the meantime, had respected his wishes not to engage with him unnecessarily, and the only time they had spoken was when Sam called one night and quietly asked about his conversation with Adam. He then admitted he was having trouble accepting their new brother, to which Dean agreed was very strange indeed. Then he repeated the conversation verbatim, and politely wished his brother goodnight after Sam had no questions. 

That manner was how they proceeded for almost two weeks. Castiel was being painfully friendly to both brothers all of a sudden, especially Sam, and Dean suspected it was because he knew they had enough money now to quit the tour if they wanted to.

But then again, not really. If they broke their contracts, the penalty to do so was $75,000. That would leave $100,000, and it wouldn’t last long for two suddenly unemployed musicians, one with a criminal background. Not to mention all the damage done to their reputations from backing out of the thing in the first place. 

Sam had subtly hinted once about leaving, as the brothers were walking to their respective cars (after a stressful practice in which Castiel had lost his temper at their reticence and Bobby had afterwards yelled at them both to get their shit together, immediately). But Dean threw Sam a look that clearly said he would entertain no such notion, and the subject was instantly dropped.

Bobby was a strange one, though. He seemed both overly willing and entirely unwilling to intervene between the brothers. Dean had overheard him say once that he’d step in if the hostilities broke out into open war, but Castiel blithely responded he saw no such hostility, and that was the end of that. So Bobby stood aside and watched, patting each of them on the back when they deserved it (Dean in particular had vastly improved his techniques), or privately taking one or both aside and delivering sharply pointed lectures when they were not performing up to expectations. That wasn’t often, but it stung hard, and the brothers did everything they could to avoid deserving it.

So Castiel was happy for the present. In truth, he was also right about the situation. There was currently no open hostility between Dean and Sam anymore. Resignation was more accurate, as if they had both ever given up the hope of reconciling and had made some unspoken agreement to just wave white flags and stop battling, even though the war raged silently on.

And then there was Chuck. The man had somehow weaseled out of being fired, incredibly, and was back to work after being suspended for a week without pay for “performance issues,” as Castiel had mumbled vaguely. 

Dean was obliged to meet with Chuck on a Friday to discuss tour logistics, and he couldn’t remember dreading anything more in his life as he did when he was walking to the office that morning. Well, not since he was an errant teenager and waiting for dad to get home, anyway. Dean had been on his best behavior for weeks, but he mentally pulled himself up by his bootstraps and determined to be perfectly angelic as he knocked on the door and was asked to wait.

He stood by the door, then realized Sam was inside Chuck’s office. He could hear his brother’s low rumbling tones, but not make out the words. In order to be accused of eavesdropping, he stepped away from the door a good ten paces and waited, leaning up against the cool wall with his eyes closed. He eventually heard heavy footsteps emerge around the corner, and when he opened his eyes again he found himself face to face with Castiel.

“Dean? What are you doing?”

“Um. Waiting for Chuck. We have a meeting.”

“That’s right. So Sam’s already in there. Good. I want to talk to all three of you.”

 _Fuck._ Dean’s heart raced a little.

“It’s not a bad thing. I though we discussed your tendency to jump to dire conclusions.”

Dean smiled thinly. “Yeah, well...still working on that. Sorry.”

“Hmm. Before we go in, I need to ask you a question. Don’t think too hard about the answer, just tell me what your gut instinct says. Do you want to restart the family therapy with your brother? I haven’t been holding either of you to those terms of your contract, but I can enforce it at any time.”

Dean shook his head. “I think I need to continue alone for a little while longer. Too much shit to...sorry, too much _stuff_ I need to sort out on my own first.”

“Alright. I want you to come to me if you feel the need to go with Sam. I’ll make it seem like it’s my decision alone so he won’t fight it.”

“No, sir, when the time comes we should be truthful with him and say it was my doing. May I ask you a question, completely unrelated to this?”

“Of course.”

Dean dropped his voice even further, although there was no one in the hallway at all. It was too early in the morning; most students arrived around 9am.

“I just...um. I’m having a hard time reconciling something. When I wasn’t going to therapy, and you said you knew the whole time. But you still were so nice to me, and gave me your guest house, and you never....I just don’t understand why you weren’t mad about it? Sorry.”

“Having a guilt complex again?”

“Yeah,” Dean admitted reluctantly. “I really am.”

“Understood. That’s why you’ve been so subservient lately. I could tell something’s been weighing on you.”

 _Subservient?_ Yikes. “Oh. Yes. I mean, it’s confusing. A few weeks ago you were all about not budging an inch with my discipline, then you let me get away with that. And a few other things. I just...I think Sam sees it, and you’ve been really hard on him, so it’s kind of causing a divide.”

“I haven’t been unjust. Nor unfair. He’s never complained,” Castiel replied in confusion. “Not sure what you’re referring to?”

“I mean, you’ve been really friendly to both of us and that’s great, we love it, but I swear he owes you more money than you’ve paid him with all the fines he’s been getting.”

“Sam needs discipline. Much more than what you need these days. So if you’re going to ask me to ease up on him, the answer is no.”

Dean shook his head. “No, that’s not it. You’re right, he does. I guess I’m asking you to not play favorites with me. To _not_ ease up on me.”

“Play...favorites?”

“Yeah.” Dean hoped he didn’t look as miserable as he felt all of a sudden.

“I don’t understand.”

Dean took a deep breath. “Michael, Gabriel, Chuck, and Sam. Especially Chuck. They all think I’m like...a teacher’s pet, I guess you could say.”

“When did they say that?”

“They haven’t,” Dean amended quickly. “But I know that’s how they feel.”

“Are they treating you poorly?”

 _Yes._ “No! Not at all.”

“Then I don’t see the problem. Did you do something I don’t know about that I need to punish you for?”

Dean bit back a retort and counted to ten. It was astonishing how utterly unobservant and naive his boss could be sometimes.

“No, sir.”

“Fine. Until you do, I don’t see the point of what you’re asking me.”

Dean sighed. “The point is to avoid that...to make them see I’m not any better than they are.”

“You are, though.”

“I’m not!”

Castiel eyed Dean searchingly, and Dean caught the exact moment when it finally hit him what his stammering violinist was trying to say.

“I see. You’re uncomfortable with being my favorite.”

Dean startled a little at that choice of words. “Uh, I wasn’t thinking of it in those exact terms. But since you put it that way, yes. And I’m not the only one. The problem is actually that everyone else wants to be your favorite, and they’re not.”

“That’s not your fault.”

“They don’t see it that way.”

“You don’t think yourself worthy of my attention and compassion. I understand.”

Dean nearly rolled his eyes, but he refrained just in time; Castiel had missed the point yet again.

“Okay, look. I’ll just say it. I don’t _want_ to be your favorite. At least, not publicly. I want to be on the same level as everyone else. Subject to the same terms and conditions they are. Please don’t treat me differently. It’s causing too many problems between me and Sam, and your staff.”

Castiel nodded sagely as he thought about it. “I see. You could have just told me that from the beginning and saved a lot of time.”

“I thought I did. Never mind. I just...I’m not ungrateful for your treatment of me at all. I truly appreciate it.”

“Doesn’t seem like it to me.”

Dean resolved to clamp his mouth shut and not say anything else; Castiel was clearly getting agitated and it was no use going further. The point had been made clearly enough. At any rate, there was no time to say anything else. Chuck’s door opened and Sam emerged gloomily.

Castiel walked over and intercepted him. “Back inside, please. I want to talk to the three of you.”

Sam nodded and looked back at the office. “Gabriel and Michael are in there, too.”

Dean’s heart leaped into his throat.

“Even better. Dean, go get Bobby. Let’s all have a nice chat.”

\-----------------

There weren’t enough chairs for everyone in the room, so Castiel insisted on standing while everyone else sat. He had his iPad and stylus in hand as he paced back and forth slightly and talked.

“Washington DC, our first stop, is completely sold out. Even so, I’m thinking we should schedule a series of preview concerts here in Los Angeles the week before to help drum up some reviews.”

Dean tuned out completely as the others talked; he was too busy watching his brother. Whatever had just occurred in the room before he and Castiel’s arrival obviously hasn’t been pleasant, since Sam looked like he’d just been metaphorically spanked by one or both of the Novak brothers.

Sam mouthed something to him that he didn’t catch, so he gave a look that said _what?_ and Sam mouthed it again, but he still didn’t get it, so he shrugged and turned his attention back to the ring that he often twisted around on his finger. He missed mom. His mind then wandered to dad’s memorial service - thinly attended, and depressing as fuck - until his mind was drawn back to the present when Castiel said his name.

“Dean? Feel free to give an opinion on that.”

Fuck. Dean had no clue what he was supposed to opine on at all, perhaps the Los Angeles concerts? No, that was five minutes ago. Could they still have been on the same subject that long? Perhaps. Or not.

“Dean?” Castiel prompted.

“Sorry, um.” Dean shifted uneasily in his chair. “I don’t really have an opinion on that, sir. Whatever you think is best.”

“Don’t dodge the question, please. I actually require your opinion, since it’s quite important that we get this settled as soon as possible.”

 _Oh, double fuck._ Sam was looking at him worriedly, and he shifted again and opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“You weren’t paying attention,” Castiel observed matter-of-factly.

Dean took a deep breath. “So sorry, I…”

“Sam, what are your thoughts?” Castiel said quickly.

“Uh…”

“You weren’t paying attention, either.” Castiel set his iPad on the desk and picked up the pile of papers nearby. “This is an actual business meeting, gentlemen, with your boss and his creative staff. Not happy hour at the bar. I don’t appreciate your complete lack of attention to matters than concern the welfare of both of you, as well as that of this entire organization.”

Dean darted a glance at Bobby, who was staring him down with an expression that clearly promised them both a ferocious lecture later. _Shit._

“Sorry, sir,” both brothers said together.

Castiel handed them the tour schedule, then asked them to go to the seventh page.

“As I was saying…”

\--------

Dean and Sam stood side by side in Castiel’s office, as silent as potted plants, while they waited for their boss to show up and tell them off for not paying attention earlier. He had been keeping them waiting for so long that Dean now suspected it was on purpose in order to get them to talk to each other.

He was determined not to give in. And he didn’t. Neither did Sam. It seemed an eternity passed before Castiel finally arrived, and Dean let out a silent, huge breath in relief. Until...

“Dean, come with me. I’m going to cane you for not paying attention. Then we’ll all talk.”

“What?” Dean blurted in horror, even as his feet moved automatically towards the door. He hadn’t been caned in over two months, and his ass clenched tightly as he felt a huge surge of indignation at breaking that record for such a minor offense. 

“Wait,” Sam said quickly as he took a step forward. “It was my fault, I was distracting him.”

Castiel stopped in his tracks and looked back and forth between the two brothers. “Dean is responsible for his own actions, Sam. Or lack therof. You shouldn’t have distracted him, but it’s done now. Come on, Dean.”

“Wait, please? You’re actually caning him for...for not hearing a question?”

“Yes. Dean agreed that he’s subject to correction whenever he’s at fault.”

“I just said it was _my_ fault. I’m taking the blame. Fine me, or whatever.”

“You’re getting fined already. I haven’t decided how much yet. Silence, please. Come along, Dean.”

Dean trudged after Castiel, his heart all but ready to explode from disbelief and irritation. He stalked into the room and immediately protested.

“Cas, you said I had a right to appeal any punishment I feel is unjust. And this one is definitely out of proportion.”

“Acknowledged. I disagree completely, however. Turn around and put your hands on the wall.”

Dean sucked in a deep breath to calm his pounding heart. “Are you...like, trying to get back at me for what I said earlier?”

Castiel lowered his chin a little and stared down Dean with a stern, unwavering expression. “I said, turn around and put your hands on the wall. Right now.”

Dean did. He could hardly believe this was happening. 

“Wait, the door is still open-”

The cane came down and Dean gasped and jumped away. “Ow! Fuck!”

“Three more,” Castiel said, very loudly.

“What?!”

Sam suddenly appeared in the doorway. “Castiel, please stop. I’ll take it in his place, just stop. It was my fault!”

Castiel turned around. “Caning isn’t allowed in your contract. Can’t do it. Dean, turn around-”

“Well, put it in my contract, then! I’m not just going to stand by and watch him get his ass beat for something I did. It’s not fair.”

“Sam, Dean’s been getting his ‘ass beat’ since day one, at his request. But I know some of those occasions had to do with you as well. Why start getting all defensive now?”

Sam floundered a little as he searched for an answer. “He has? Like...often?”

“You’re not very observant,” Castiel said mildly. “Or maybe Dean’s getting better at hiding it.”

Dean stood silent. Angry. Confused.

“Fine,” Sam sputtered decisively. “I just...change my contract, then. I’m not letting him take the fall for what I did.”

“Very well. Go get it from Chuck, and we’ll talk. Dean, you can go.”

Dean turned around and grabbed his ass to rub it; Sam was white as a styrofoam block and he was sure his own coloring was just as terrible.

“I said go,” Castiel prompted, and they both hurried out.

\-----------

Dean was sweating as he waited anxiously in the concert hall for his brother and Castiel, who were quite late. He stared at his music without actually seeing any of the notes.

Sam finally arrived on his own, and Dean jumped to his feet in concern. “Dude, you okay?”

“Yeah.” Sam sat down and picked up his cello. “He didn’t cane me. I somehow talked him out of it, miraculously.”

“Fuck. Good. You’re completely nuts for wanting to change your contract. What the hell were you thinking?

Sam froze. “I...we did change it.”

“What? Why the _hell_ would you do that?”

Sam shrugged. “Fuck, Dean. I’m sorry. I had no idea he was so hard on you all the time. He’s been so nice, and kissing your ass so much. I...I didn’t know he was beating it in private, too. Nobody did, we’ve...I’ve been so jealous, for nothing. I’m a fucking idiot.”

 _Oh!_ Dean’s heart jolted as the realization of what really just happened slapped him in the face. _Holy shit._ _Castiel planned this out. He overreacted on purpose....exaggerated everything…_

“Dean?”

_...he *wanted* Sam to jump to my defense..._

 Dean could hardly find his voice to respond. “Yeah, uh...you shouldn’t have changed it, all the same.”

_...That’s why he left the door open when he caned me…_

“Well I did. We’re equal now. It’s only fair.”

_...and why he was talking so loud..._

“Thanks, Sam. I guess? Weird thing to be thanking you for, I suppose.”

_….Castiel wasn’t actually mad at me..._

“Yeah, well. There’s nothing normal about this situation.”

_...it was just an act._

“Understatement of the year right there, Sammy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to stress again that nothing Cas does has been, or ever will be, with nefarious intentions. He sincerely thinks he *can* fix everything, and he *wants* to fix everything. Unfortunately his methods are a little questionable for the rest of us who already know you can’t fix the Winchesters...


	94. Chapter 94

Dean knew perfectly well he should be horrified and angry at Castiel’s trickery. He knew it was wrong, he knew it was manipulative, and he absolutely knew he would have called him out on the lie if he had realized it sooner. He would have put a stop to it. He _would_ have called Cas out if he had known. He definitely would have.

_Really._

He would have.

_Maybe._

Probably.

_Definitely._

Perhaps.

But then Sam started behaving himself, and suddenly Dean was no longer the object of scorn from Chuck or the Novak brothers. In fact, it seemed he could do no wrong all of a sudden.

So he kept the secret (and his cowardice) to himself and tried to enjoy his newfound popularity.

 _Tried_ being the operative word...

\---------------

**ONE MONTH LATER**

“Ha, I’m up to 56,000 followers on Twitter. How about you?”

“Don’t know,” Dean answered as he waited to turn left at a red. “Don’t care. Twitter’s stupid.”

“You should care. You should engage with your fans. It’ll help sell more tickets.”

“ _Fans?_ Seriously? We’ve been in one whole article and we haven’t even played a single concert yet.”

“ _Two_ articles, and one of them is Rolling Stone. That’s nothing to sneeze at. Why haven’t you set up an Instagram yet?”

“Oh my god.”

“And Facebook?”

Dean sighed. “Cas said his super media people will handle it.”

“ _Social_ media. You’re such an old man. Next thing I know you’re going to be barking at people to get off your lawn and start hanging an onion on your belt.”

Dean turned to look at his brother askance. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Nothing. Forget it.”

\-----------

**ONE WEEK LATER**

“Dean, come in.”

Dean walked into Castiel’s office, dragging his feet slightly. He wasn’t looking forward to this conversation whatsoever, and neither was Castiel, who handed him a few screenshots of his errant violinist’s Twitter account.

“When Bobby and I said you should be engaging with your followers, this is _not_ what we meant.”

Dean said nothing as he gloomily read his tweets in question. Replies, actually. He hadn’t actually tweeted anything original yet except a brief “hello, Twitter world.”

Castiel cleared his throat. “They’re called trolls. I have plenty of experience with them. They’re trying to rile you up, and that’s all the more reason to refrain from responding to them.”

“I’m not allowed to defend myself?” Dean sputtered in indignation. “Listen to this bullshit. _Hope he doesn’t murder these pieces like his dad murdered those poor people._ And this one? _Flight of the Bumblebooze coming to a city near you!_ There are dozens like that.”

“I know. Dean, you’ve never handled criticism well in the first place, justifiable or not. Your best bet is just to ignore them. Keep in mind that as long as you’re representing me and our tour, you are obligated to keep your public interactions civil and free of profanity. Delete those tweets the moment you walk out of this office.”

“Can I just delete my account altogether?”

“No. Your contract specifically requires you regularly interact on social media. In fact, your refusal to post anything to Instagram actually violates your contract.”

Dean looked up at the ceiling.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” Castiel snapped.

Dean shrugged. “I’m sorry, it’s just silly. ‘Social’ media. It’s a fucking joke.”

“That’s enough. You’ve sworn at me twice in two minutes, so I’m about to lose my patience.”

“Sorry. But I’m not swearing _at_ you, just at the situation.”

“I think I’ve been too nice to you lately. Perhaps you need a reminder of your place in all this.”

That clammed Dean up quick. He nodded, and resolved to keep his mouth shut.

“I expect you to follow the guidelines, starting immediately. As a reminder of what you agreed to, I want you to copy out your entire contract to me in perfectly legible handwriting. If I can’t read even one word, you’ll have to do it over. I want it within three days. In addition, I want you to memorize all of the bullet points of what constitutes unacceptable behavior on social media. There will be a test.”

Dean looked away; he’d rather be caned any day than submit to such humiliation.

“Dean?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean mumbled as he brought his eyes back up to meet Castiel’s. The man wasn’t wrong, Dean had been acting like a shit lately, for no reason that he could possibly explain. Except maybe that he surprisingly hated his newfound fame. Sam had been basking in it, of course, but…

“You look like you want to say something else,” Castiel observed mildly. “Speak freely, please, without swearing. There should be no secrets between us.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, I just...I’m sorry. If it’s alright with you I’ll mention this to my therapist and get her take on it.”

“It’s not my business what you tell her or don’t tell her. Is therapy with Sam is going well, though?”

“Yeah. It took a few weeks, but he’s finally opened up a bit. We’re working things out. You haven’t, ummm...had to cane him again, have you?”

“Just the one time you know about already two weeks ago. He’s been perfectly well-behaved since then.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “He’s been great to me, too. Look, um....I just wanted to ask a question that popped to mind recently. It wasn’t in the contract or anything, not that I could tell. You don’t actually plan to cane us while we’re on tour, do you?”

“I don’t plan to, no. But if you give me an irrefutable reason to, absolutely.”

“Right. It’s just that Sam almost quit last time.”

“He what?”

“He...he almost quit. I had to talk him out of it. He really, _really_ doesn’t like to be caned.”

Castiel crossed his arms. “I don’t think anyone does. That’s the point. He took it rather well, I thought.”

“You _thought,_ ” Dean repeated. “He didn’t, though. Ever since the lawsuit from my old lawyer was dropped, he has enough money to just walk away whenever he wants. I don’t, obviously, since I used my advance to pay the fines from my conviction and my student loans.”

“Your finances aren’t my business either, Dean. Please avoid this kind of talk.”

“Sorry, I’m just trying to tell you. Warn you, even, if you want to take it that way. I don’t want anything to happen while we’re on tour. I think you should maybe consider other options to deal with him should something serious happen. Because…I just...I don’t want him to quit, okay?”

Castiel took a deep breath. “I understand. Thank you for telling me. I’ll keep it in mind. Anything else?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Okay. Go delete those tweets, find something to Instagram, then relax. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Dean left grudgingly and walked around the arts center while waiting for Sam, looking for some way to “engage” his annoyingly entitled followers. Not that he cared about them all, but he didn’t want to disappoint Cas. There was nothing he could do about it, really, except resign himself to the fact that he had signed his contract without complaining about those requirements in the first place. He hadn’t known what he was getting into, then. 

He did now. One freakin’ article with a picture of him (okay, even he had to admit that angle was extremely flattering) and suddenly everyone lost their shit over some obscure but cute guy named Dean Winchester. When they found out about his past, which took all of 24 hours, the intrigue over his looks combined into obsession about his sordid history, and he had gained just as many fans as detractors in the space of two weeks. Some of whom were at war with each other over Twitter, which Dean had made the mistake of jumping right in the middle of.

It took him a minute to decide he also didn’t give a shit about Instagram and never would. He just wanted to play his violin and do the music justice to ears that would appreciate it, not become some kind of cheap, attention-whoring social media wannabe like his brother. Sam had amassed 100,000 Twitter followers through his somewhat pathetic and constant stream of replies and retweets, while Dean was hovering somewhere around 120,000 without even remotely trying to be nice. So much for Bobby claiming he was alienating their “fans.” 

While he was texting Sam for an ETA, Dean hit a wrong button and accidentally snapped an off-center, woefully blurry photo of a half-dead palm tree leaning against a fence. He gleefully posted the mistake to Instagram with the caption “California Dreaming.” By the next morning it had over 8,000 likes and several hundred replies about how beautifully unique and ‘artsy’ his photography was. 

Castiel took it exactly for what it _really_ was, however: a sarcastic, mocking response at being asked to toe the line. He called Dean into his office, confirmed it was a poor joke, caned him once for disrespect, once more for forgetting to delete his hostile tweets, then warned him more would follow if he didn’t take his duties seriously.

Dean was absolutely livid afterwards and spent all night doing the math on what it would cost him to quit. He couldn’t afford it. Not because of money, but because of his criminal record.

So early the next morning he posted himself smiling and posing with his Guadagnini (he may have even tried to look a little sexy), the pic taken through a dressing room mirror. He used the caption Gabriel had worded for him the day before: _Living the Dream! So thrilled to be launching the Fire & Water Tour in exactly 60 days! Link in bio for tickets ;) _

That one got 25,000 likes in 12 hours, a slew of marriage proposals, and countless “fangirls” declaring themselves “deceased.”

Dean deleted the photo that evening, then went to bed feeling more depressed than he had ever felt in his entire life.

\--------------

**TWO WEEKS LATER**

“What’s wrong?”

Dean balanced his violin on his lap and reached down to take another gulp of water. “Sorry, I don’t feel like explaining. It’s nothing.”

Sam looked at the microphone, then back at his brother. “It’s not on. No green light, see? Talk to me. I’m worried about you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. You’re not yourself today.”

Dean shrugged. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Sam pulled out his phone. “Your tweets are just...are you really posting these things, or is somebody with an actual sense of humor doing it for you?”

“Oh, thanks a lot. Appreciate that.”

“Only joking. Your lady followers are loving it. I never knew you were such a charmer.”

“Shut up, Sam.” Dean set his water bottle back down on the floor and flipped open his music.

“Jesus,” Sam replied in annoyance. “Excuse me for living.”

“I don’t want to fucking talk about it, ever. And stop liking or commenting on everything, please. It just gets them even more riled up. It’s fucking ridiculous.”

“Okay. What the hell is your problem?” Sam demanded. “You’re doing great. You’re up to 195,000 followers. 99% of them are women, I think.”

Dean laid his violin in the case and stood up. “I need air. Stop fucking talking about Twitter or I swear to god I’ll...I’ll...forget it.”

Dean stalked out of the concert hall and into the anteroom where VIPs waited for the green room. It was quiet there, and dark. He sunk down on the floor, in the corner, and rested his head in his hands. 

After a few minutes he pulled out his phone and idly took a photo of his crossed legs in the gloom. Black jeans on the black floor, his white socks barely showing, one hand resting on his knee. Then he impulsively posted it to Instagram. _Hope you all are having a better day than I am._

_\-----------_

The backlash from Dean’s newest Instagram post was almost instantaneous, but he didn’t see it until after rehearsal. Long after it had done more damage than he could have ever imagined. As he started to read the first few comments, he almost had a heart attack on the spot.

_-LOL Why so dark. Are you in solitary waiting for your brother to post your bail again?_

_-Aw, the poor boy is having a bad day. I’m sure the men your dad killed would love to trade places with you._

_-Must be rough having literally everything handed to you on a platter and still never be happy._

“Dean?” Castiel asked as he came up behind him in the hallway. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Dean put his phone in his pocket. “That was a good rehearsal, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was. I was just about to say that, but you…” Castiel tilted his head slightly, like a quizzical beagle. “Did something happen?”

“No, I just...thinking about what to tweet next. It’s a little addictive, I guess.”

“Yes. That reminds me, this morning I was looking at the photos you’ve posted already, and I’ve been meaning to compliment the great job you’re doing. Could still use some more engagement on Twitter, but you’ve vastly improved.” He pulled out his phone and opened Instagram. “I wanted to ask you where you took that photo of the sailboat.”

“Wait, um,” Dean said quickly, before Castiel could see his newest Instagram photo. Fuck, too late. He should have deleted it immediately. 

Castiel turned the phone sideways. “What’s this?”

Fuck. He was looking right at it. At the caption. Then Dean’s black legs and the black tile floor. Then back up at Dean himself.

“Oh, I see. Everything okay?”

“I’m fine! I’m going to delete it.”

“Why?”

“I….the comments.” Dean closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “I’ll delete it, I’m sorry.”

Castiel slipped his phone back into his pocket. “I don’t see any need to delete it, but that’s your choice.”

“Wait...what?”

“You heard me correctly.”

“You mean...you’re not mad?”

“ _Mad_ ? Not at all. Why would I be mad?” Castiel seemed genuinely confused.

Dean shook his head. “I...because it’s nothing like you wanted it to be. Cheerful, promotional…”

“I never used those words. Maybe Bobby did, but not me. I think it’s refreshingly genuine. You should see some of the depressing stuff I post sometimes. Life isn’t always a bouquet of balloons.”

“But the trolls-”

“They’ll get bored by your lack of response and move on to harassing someone else. They always do. The key is to focus on the supportive ones and just continue to be yourself. I’ve said this before, not sure why it isn’t sinking in.”

“I don’t want to be myself. I don’t like myself.”

Dean blurted that without thinking, barely even conscious of the enormity of those words, but it hit him a few seconds later as he looked up at the equally perturbed Castiel.

“Wow,” Dean muttered uncomfortably. “That was not meant to come out like that.”

Castiel nodded a little. “As I said, Dean, when we first met I instantly felt we had a lot in common. But I’m very sorry to hear that we share that particular sentiment as well.”

Dean cracked a slight grin; it had always been his tendency to make jokes at times like this. “What, that you don’t like me either?” 

“I do. Very much. You know what I meant.”

Dean got serious again. “Sorry. Another thing to talk over with my therapist. I think I’m going to give her a nervous breakdown with this one.”

Castiel inclined his head slightly towards his office and Dean followed him in reluctantly.

“Sit down, Dean. Let’s have what my father would’ve called a come-to-Jesus discussion.”

Oh boy, thought Dean as he grabbed a chair and sank into it. Castiel had the most comfortable office chairs ever, and he often had a hard time not dozing off during long meetings. 

“Cas, I’m sorry I said that. I didn’t mean it.”

“Yes you did. Dean, I’m becoming incredibly concerned about how you’re going to handle the fame aspect of this tour. I don’t want you to be ashamed of being nervous about it. It’s far more common than uncommon, and sometimes causes very grave challenges. All of us have noticed a steep decline in your morale since the Rolling Stone article. Do you know why that might be?”

Dean swallowed hard. “It wasn’t the article. It was the aftermath. All these people following me and wanting to know so many personal details based on one little paragraph and a photo. It’s creepy as fuck. Sorry.”

Castiel nodded. “The article was two pages, not a paragraph, but that’s beside the point. We sold nearly a quarter of our ticket volume after the issue came out, so you can understand how crucial it was for marketing purposes.”

“Yeah, I do. I get it. But I don’t want to be on social media, okay?”

“You literally signed up for this, Dean. Did you not know what you were getting into?”

“No!”

“Calm down.”

“Sorry.”

Castiel picked up his phone and took a minute to scroll through Twitter. “You’re getting a lot of compliments, too. Have you even noticed those?”

“Yes. They’re from people who have never heard a single note from my violin and are just judging me based on looks.”

“That’s actually untrue. Sam‘s been posting videos. I’m reading comments on those.”

“What?”

Castile texted him a link to a YouTube channel, which Dean scrolled down in horror.

“Oh my god. These are years old. I was in high school. Oh, hell no, I _know_ he didn’t post this one of me getting ready for my prom! Look at me dancing like a dumbass! Why the fuck is he doing this?”

“Okay, just relax.”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Dean breathed shakily as he stalked out of the office, ignoring Castiel’s protests, and called his brother.


	95. Chapter 95

Sam didn’t answer the phone for Dean’s four phone calls, so after barging into Chuck’s office to look at the calendar, Dean learned his brother was in technical training again with the visiting cello expert from the London Philharmonic. There was absolutely no way in hell Sam would have taken his phone in with him for that, not after Castiel had delivered a scorching lecture to both brothers on being distracted during rehearsal by their new Apple watches.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Bobby said as Dean flew by him on the way out the door.

“Oh, nothing,” Dean called over his shoulder. “But you’re going to want to start looking for a new cellist.”

Bobby jogged to catch up to Dean, then gently clutched his arm to pull him to a stop. Dean shook his arm loose and spun around to face the man he thought he could get close to, but so far that hadn’t happened.

“Kiddo, what the hell’s going on? Did Sam quit?”

“Nope. I’m gonna kill him, that’s all. Better put up an audition notice today.”

Bobby tilted his head. “Balls. Guess I gotta replace you, too, then. Unless Cas wants to go solo again.”

Dean shook his head - not even a tiny bit amused - and turned around to keep walking.

“Stop, Dean,” Bobby called dangerously, in a low tone in order to avoid attracting attention.

“Can’t. On a mission, Bobby.”

“If you’re looking for Sam, you’re going the wrong way.”

Dean stopped after a few more steps, then turned around. Bobby chucked a thumb over his shoulder. “I just saw him walk into Castiel’s office. You wanna barge in there and interrupt them? Go ahead. Then you can all fight over who’s gonna murder who, but I’ll have a feeling you’d be first to go.”

Dean retraced his paces and stopped inches from Bobby’s face. “Sam’s a...he...you know what, never mind. You wouldn’t understand.” 

Dean breezed past him again and went into the small office he shared with his brother, then locked the door behind him and checked the pockets of the jacket that was hanging on the wall. Yep, there was Sam’s phone. Unlocked, as always, since he had zero sense whatsoever when it came to protecting his personal information. 

Dean opened Sam’s Twitter app and angrily typed out “ _I just sharted myself. Also, why was I born with such a stupid-ass babboon face_?” and started to post it, but was interrupted by an incoming text message from Amazon. He felt slightly horrified at the thought of invading his brother’s privacy in this manner, and swiped up to close the notification. Instead, the gesture opened up a text message thread:

  *   _ _Sam, you were right. Dean not happy about the videos__



 Dean paused, swallowed his indignation, then took a deep breath and scrolled higher into the conversation that Castiel had started several weeks earlier: 

  * __Sam, thanks for the chat. Give me some ideas by the end of the day__


  * _I have a video of him driving the Impala for the first time_


  * _No cars. We’re trying to get people to forget the DUIs. Have some common sense, please_


  * _Sorry. Maybe I should ask him what he wants me to post. I don’t want to upset him_


  * _He’ll never do it. Just find something that makes him likable. If possible._



  _You unsalvageable dick,_ Dean thought irritably.

  *   _ _Dean’s very private. I shouldn’t just post something without him knowing. I do have a video of him acting goofy while getting ready for his prom__


  * _That works. Send it out today. ASAP._


  * _Without asking him?_


  * _Yes. If he doesn’t get likable soon we’re going to have a serious problem on our hands_


  * _He’s going to be so mad at me_


  * _Not when his bonus goes up a few percentage points after selling more tickets. And yours. Do it and stop arguing, that’s final_


  * _Sorry. Will do._



 Dean didn’t want to read any further. His stomach was turning into knots, and he suddenly had an overwhelming urge to break something - anything - into a thousand pieces. But he kept scrolling just to torture himself.

  *   _ _You were right, he’s getting a lot of new followers. He noticed it this morning but doesn’t know why, and doesn’t care__


  * _Post another video today. It’s been two days_


  * _How about this one? See attached_


  * _No. Did you not hear the part where I said I wanted to make him likable? This is not it_


  * _Sorry. Can we talk in person about this tomorrow? I’m really struggling with my conscience here_


  * _Sure. Come see me at 3_



 It was 3:02 pm now. So that’s what they were meeting about. Dean slipped the phone back into Sam’s jacket, then left their little office after making sure the safe containing his violin was locked. He intended to go to the cafeteria, but without really thinking about anything, he passed it, exited out the back doors, got into his Impala, and drove to grocery store to get some Excedrin. He ended up picking up a bottle of whiskey along with it. Then he drove home - to Castiel’s guest house, rather - and poured himself a drink.

\--------------

_\- Dean? Where the hell did you go? Are you alright? I’m freaking out_

_\- I’m fine. Done for the day_

_\- You blew off your clinic with the guy from London. Castiel is ready to murder you_

_\- Understood. He can do it tomorrow, too tired now. Make sure you get it on video._

_\- What?_

_\- Record my murder. You know, so you can post it and get more followers._

_\- oh my god. I fucking knew it. Dean, this wasn’t my idea I fucking swear_

_\- I know, Sammy. Not mad at you. See you tomorrow_

_\- Wait_

\--------------

Dean was eerily calm the next morning when reporting to his weekly meeting with Castiel. He hadn’t really been thinking too much about what he’d learned from the texts. For whatever reason, his anger about it had been incredibly short-lived. Perhaps it was the whiskey. Perhaps it was the realization that he couldn’t admit what he saw without incriminating himself for snooping through Sam’s phone. 

If Dean Winchester was more self-aware than he was, he would have realized the reason he wasn’t really mad was because he knew Cas and Sam were right. That he wasn’t likable as is. Hell, if he didn’t like himself, who else would..?

“Good morning Dean,” Castiel began as he shifted around some things on his desk to make room for a tray of donuts. “I got these from a student. Feel free to take one.”

“No, thank you. I just had breakfast.”

Castiel looked caught off guard. “Are you feeling okay? You look a bit...worn out.”

“I have a hangover.”

“Oh.”

“I’m legally allowed to drink again now.” Dean stared at Castiel with an expression that all but dared his boss to protest.

“Yes, I’m aware of that. As long as it doesn’t impact your performance, as stated in your contract, you can drink all you want.”

Dean nodded. 

Castiel looked incredibly confused, which of course was Dean’s intention, but he quickly gathered his wits and pulled out a notebook. “Alright, first things first. We had a guest from the London Philharmonic yesterday, the assistant concertmaster. You were supposed to meet with him at 3:30. I would very much appreciate an explanation of why you didn’t show up.”

“I wasn’t feeling well and went home.”

“Okay. Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“Because I didn’t.”

Castiel closed his notebook after staring at Dean for a few long moments in dismay. “Alright. Why don’t you let me in on what’s bothering you?”

“What? Sam didn’t tell you? He tells you everything else. I’m sure you even know when I last took a shit, right?”

“You’re upset about the videos,” Castiel sighed.

“Excellent guess.”

“Do you understand why they’re necessary?”

“Doesn’t matter. You both went behind my back to do it.” Dean sat up straighter in his chair and steeled himself. “You did me a favor, though. Just not the way you think. It’s actually a relief to finally have an answer to my question.”

“What question is that?” Castiel asked guardedly.

“Whether or not I can trust you. Now I know I can’t. No more wondering.”

“Dean-”

“Don’t worry, I’m not quitting.” Dean held up his hands in a _I surrender_ gesture. “I can’t afford to quit. I know that I’m fucking stuck with you for the next nine months. If you want to get rid of me, though, I’m good with that. Do it. I could use the severance money to tide me over while I find another job. Hopefully I’m qualified to flip burgers, at least. Don’t have to be likable for that.”

Castiel looked sideways at him a little, then turned around in his chair and dug into a drawer in the file cabinet along the back wall. He took something out, flipped through it, shut the drawer, again, and handed it over the top of the desk. It was a binder about one inch thick and almost full.

“Look at this.”

“Why?”

“Please.”

Dean furrowed his eyebrows, then irritably flipped open the first page as Castiel sat back down.

“You want no more secrets between us, Dean? Fine. Just be careful what you wish for, though. Skip to the last tab.”

“Why?”

Castiel leaned forward, his expression dark. “Want me to put this into terms you can understand? Because you need a fucking wake-up call, that’s why. And I’m about to give it to you.”

Dean looked up at his boss, his eyes wide. 

“Last tab,” Castiel repeated firmly, in a tone that clearly said it would accept no argument whatsoever. 

So Dean backed down, wordlessly flipped to the section in question, and started reading. 

\------------------

“What are you doing?” Sam asked in confusion as he walked in to find Dean spreading his music all over the office floor. 

“Marking my music.”

“What? You never do that.”

“I know, but I keep making the same mistakes.” He pointed to the bars in question. “Here, I miss the B natural to C sharp everytime. My fingers want to do b-flat. And here, because I’m used to the recording that has this in triplets, I keep miscounting it. You remember? We went over that a few times today.”

“Yeah.” Sam set down his cello and loosened his tie. “You think Castiel will ever let us get away with not dressing like CIA agents every day? It’s fucking hot out.”

“Wouldn’t bet on it. We still going to dinner?”

“I don’t know. It’s up to you.”

Dean looked up at his brother. “It was your idea. You tell me.”

Sam shrugged. “Depends on how you feel about being in public with me.”

“Being in public with you? What are you talking about?”

“You know, I wouldn’t want to embarrass you. What with my babboon face, and the sharting and all.”

Dean froze, an unpleasant chill creeping up his spine and into the tips of his fingers. “I…shit.”

“Yeah. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you changed your mind about tweeting it. But what the fuck were you doing snooping around in my phone?”

Dean stood up and shook out the leg that was falling asleep. “Sam, can we just forget it? I’m over it. Post whatever you want.”

“Over it? We haven’t even begun. I’ve put a lock code on it, by the way, so don’t try that shit ever again.”

“I won’t. I’m sorry.” Dean looked around at music on the floor. “I just need ten minutes to finish this, then can we talk about it at dinner?”

“Sure. I’ll get a private booth so no one has to look at me. Wouldn’t want to ruin anyone’s appetite.”

“Come on, Sam. Ten minutes. Then I’ll explain.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll meet you there in twenty.”

“Good, thank you.”

Dean decided after Sam left that he didn’t have time to finish the music notations, and he didn’t want to rush it. So he scooped it all up and put it back in the folder, then turned around to see Bobby’s face hovering at the little window in the door.

“Come in.” 

“Hi. Heard you had a bit of a confrontation with Cas this morning.”

Dean walked over to the safe to double check that it was locked. “It was a private conversation, I thought.”

“And it remains so. He didn’t tell me a thing, except your condition at the time. Hangover, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Hmmm. Wanna talk about it?”

“Not even a little. I gotta go meet Sam for dinner.”

Bobby sighed in relief. “Ah. I take it you two kissed and made up, then. You were going to kill him yesterday, remember?”

Dean lifted his briefcase onto the desk and pulled and straps tight. “Funny how things can change so fast. Now I’m the next victim.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Ummm...do you have a sec?”

“Yeah?”

Dean took a deep breath and took a few moments to collect his thoughts before he turned around to look at Bobby.

“You’ve known Castiel for a long time.”

“Yep. Since he was 17.”

“Well, um...I...there’s no easy way to put it. I fucked up today. Like, horribly. I was so rude to him.”

Bobby shook his head. “Dean.”

“I know, but...I had no freakin’ idea that all his investors pulled out because of me. That they threatened to sue him if he went ahead with me. How was I supposed to know that? He basically told them to fuck off, and his brothers are financing this tour instead. By _themselves_. All because he refused to fire me for being...well, for being me.”

“Yep.”

Dean felt like crying again. He had spent much of his lunch hour in the Impala trying to pull himself together, and he wasn’t quite there yet.

“I just…I don’t get it. Why me? When he could have had any violinist he wanted? I’ll never be able to understand it.”

“I asked the same thing. He wouldn’t answer. Do you want to know my opinion on it, keeping in mind that it might be completely wrong?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Please. I’m just…”

“Don’t cry. Cas was a little shit back in the day. Couldn’t stand the kid. Obnoxious, self-righteous, stubborn. Totally unmanageable.”

“ _What?_ There’s no way.”

“Way. I threw him out of two classes in a row before I finally sat him down and just talked to him. Do you know his family background at all?”

“Nothing. Wait, what does this have to do with your theory on why he won’t just get rid of me?”

Bobby paused. “You’ve known him for months and don’t know his family background?”

Dean sat on the edge of the desk and studied the artistic director carefully.

“I….no. I’m sorry, but no. I asked Gabriel about it once and he completely shut me down.”

“What’d you ask him?”

“Why all of the brothers have different last names. He didn’t say. Castiel told me later that he had an abusive father and they didn’t want his last name, but nothing else.”

Bobby sighed and leaned against the wall.

“Oh boy. You want the long version or the short version?”

“Short, please.”

“I’ll give you the 5 minute version. Yes, the same father. Cas is the oldest by a couple months.”

Dean crossed his arms. “A couple...months?”

“Yeah. You knew they’re all half-brothers, right?”

“Yes. So they took their mother’s names?”

“You gonna let me finish?” Bobby responded irritably.

“Sorry.”

“Anyway. It was a polygamous marriage thing. Utah. You know how that goes. Daddy had a bit of a harem, let’s just say.”

Dean’s eyes went wide for the tenth time today, at least. “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah. They eventually left the faith and got ousted completely, and their dad chose one wife to keep and raise all the kids with him, which wasn't Castiel’s mom. His birth mom disappeared. They all moved to Los Angeles when Cas was real little, maybe five. He doesn’t remember any of it. Can you imagine managing seven boys and a girl under five years old?”

Dean shuddered. “I taught second graders for one semester. So yeah.”

“Well, in this case the dad was far more of a nightmare for them than they were for him. Horrible. Terrible drinking problem. Abusive. Then the adoptive mom died. Cas was twelve.”

“Fuck.”

“The dad went to bed drunk every night without feeding them. Cas ended up raising his brothers to keep them out of the system. Ruled them with an iron fist, too, from what I’ve heard. They got estranged when he went to UCLA. Gabe and Michael spent a lot of time in juvenile hall, but Cas reunited the family after he hit it big and the money started pouring in. Made them all go to college as adults and paid for it. Then he started Novaks Arts Centre and hired them after each one graduated and put them to work. That was 20 years ago. Only Gabriel and Michael stayed on for the long term, but the others have really good careers now. All thanks to Cas.”

Dean was stunned into dead silence. He literally could not think of a single word to say. That explained so much about their family dynamics. The way they bent to Castiel’s will quickly and instinctually, without putting up much of a fuss, and often at the cost of their own happiness.

“As for all of them having different last names? Cas changed his when he turned 18 and the others followed his example.”

“Is their dad still alive?”

“Nobody knows. Haven’t heard from him in many years. My theory is that Cas sees Gabriel in you, and Michael in Sam. And he definitely saw his own father in John. So he wants to save you both from John, like he saved his brothers from their dad. I could be wrong, like I said. Think about it.”


	96. Chapter 96

Dean was exhausted by the time he crossed the street to meet up with Sam, and his mind was a stampeding mob full of thoughts. He didn’t know whether to tell his brother what he’d learned about Castiel’s background (he’d probably just get mocked for not already knowing it), nor of the circumstances that had led up to the conversation in the first place (another reason for potentially getting mocked). 

_Just gotta explain why I was looking through Sam’s phone. What was the reason again?_

_I can’t even remember. It feels like a week ago. It was earlier today._

_Shit, I’m losing track of everything lately._

He was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he passed by Gabriel and Michael without even seeing them on the way to the back of the restaurant, where he hung his jacket on the hook and then slid carefully into the booth. Sam looked up and furrowed his eyebrows. “You get caned again?”

“What? No.”

“Then why are you moving like your tighty-whiteys are full of razors?”

Dean picked up the glass of water and took a huge gulp. “Don’t know. Dude, it’s been a day. I’m just tired.”

“Right.”

Dean looked at the menu without really seeing it. “Wouldn’t lie to you. Didn’t get caned,” he lied.

“Fine. Then tell me truthfully what the hell you were doing going through my phone.”

“In a minute. Need to order. Starving.”

Sam looked up and noticed Castiel and his executive team being seated only two booths away. He glanced at Dean, who wasn’t paying attention, and raised a hand to quickly wave at them. Only Bobby waved back. Sam said nothing as he sipped his wine; knowledge of their presence would only send his brother into a fit of silent anxiety.

“Damn. My wrist hurts,” Dean complained.

“It does? The one you broke?”

Dean carefully flexed his wrist. “Dad broke it, not me. Yeah. Shit.”

“Well, you’ve been practicing like ten hours a day. That would make anyone’s wrist hurt, broken or not.”

“Sam?”

Sam set his glass down. “What?”

Dean peered over the menu. “Look, I’m sorry I went through your phone. Like, sincerely, deeply sorry. Shouldn’t have done it. It was right after I found out about all those videos you’ve been posting on Tweeter and Instant Gram.”

“Twitter and...never mind. Yeah, I know.”

“I just kind of seized the moment to make you look stupid, too, then changed my mind. Anyway, I’m an idiot.”

“I disagree. Idiots look like geniuses next to you. You’re more like a brainless imbecile.”

“What the fuck?” Dean lowered his menu and stared at his brother. “Don’t say shit like that.”

“Well you’re not exactly the brightest bulb in the box, Dean. Never have been. Don’t know why I’m always so surprised at things you do sometimes.”

Dean slammed his menu onto the table. “Okay. That does it. We can’t even have a simple conversation anymore. I’m not going to fucking put up with this. The shit you and dad say to me. Said to me, rather. You know what I mean.”

“Shhh. Don’t be a drama queen. What are you going to order?”

Sam picked the menu back up and thrust it into Dean’s hands, and was rewarded with having it thrown back directly into his face. Unfortunately, and much to Dean’s horror, the action also knocked over the wineglass into Sam’s lap.

“Dean! What the fuck?” Sam hissed as he slid sideways and grabbed his huge cloth napkin to catch the spill. “Don’t make a scene! Cas and his-“

“Shut up, Sam. It was an accident.”

“But you have to calm down. Cas and his-”

“I _said_ it was a fucking accident.”

“Lower your voice, you dumbshit!” Sam hissed again as he made panicky pointing gestures. Everyone in the room was openly watching them, including... _fuck._

Dean slid out of the booth and spoke loudly while putting his jacket back on. “Sam, I don’t care who can hear me. That’s the last time you’ll call me names. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: you’re a fucking miserable excuse for a brother. I’m done. We’re officially just co-workers now and nothing more. Tomorrow, we’re gonna….”

Dean finally caught Sam’s gestures and froze in his tracks.

“Oh. They’re…uh.” He paled, then jerked a thumb over his shoulder as a question.

“Yeah. All of them.” Sam buried his face in his hands. 

“Fucking great,” Dean mumbled. He didn’t dare look at the Novak contingent as he strode by them and stalked out the front door, but a sickening chill quickly crept over his heart as he pulled his keys out and unlocked the Impala.

\--------------

_\- Sam. I’m so dead_

_\- I don’t think so. We weren’t on the clock or at the center_

_\- Pretty sure “making a public spectacle of ourselves” is forbidden in our contracts_

_\- Yeah it does. We’re both dead, then. I’m sorry. Won’t happen again_

_\- Heard that before. Nothing ever changes with you_

_\- It will from now on. I promise. I’m sorry_

........

_\- Dean?_

..........

_\- Dean. Don’t you fucking start drinking tonight_

...........

_\- Pick up the phone_

.........

_\- I’m coming over_

\---------

Sam wasn’t permitted entry at the gate to Castiel’s estate, which didn’t surprise him a bit considering the very late hour, but he was getting frantic since he still wasn’t able to get Dean to answer his texts. He left the long driveway and pulled over down the street in front of Michael’s house (all the brothers lived within three blocks of each other) and picked up his phone with an anxious deep breath.

 -  _ _Mr. Novak, so sorry to bother you. I can’t get a hold of Dean. Worried__

_-He’s fine. I just went over to the guesthouse and checked on him. Goodnight_

__-Wait, I just want to make sure he isn’t drinking_ _

_-He was. I took it all away and made him go to bed_

__\- Thank you_ _

Sam set his phone his lap and leaned back against the headrest. He was shaking. Then he sat back up again as he heard the distinctive rumble of an Impala passing by him on the left. It had come from Castiel’s driveway. He threw his car into gear and followed it all the way to the 7-11 about half a mile away, then pulled up beside it in the parking lot.

“What the hell, Sam?” Dean said as he burst out of the driver’s side. “Why the fuck are you following me? That’s some creepy stalker shit right there.”

Sam made his way around to his brother.

“Holy shit, dude. You smell like a freakin’ liquor factory. Get in my car.”

“Fuck off.”

“Fine. Your car, then.” Sam pushed Dean back into the Impala and bodily shoved him all the way over the passenger seat. “Let’s get you somewhere safe before I kill you.”

“Door open.”

“What?”

“Not that one. Other one.”

Sam looked at his Charger; he had indeed left the driver’s side door wide open in his haste to get Dean out of public view. Then he glanced into the rearview mirror and instantly recognized the dark blue BMW that had pulled up slightly behind the Impala.

“Oh my god. One of Castiel’s guards followed us.”

“Uh oh. Shit.”

“I’m getting out. Be right back. You better fucking stay right here, you hear me?” He yanked the keys out of the ignition and got out to shut his car’s door.

“Hey Rufus. How you been?”

“Your boy’s driving drunk again, that’s how I’ve been. You?”

“I’m taking him back to the house. Can you follow us?”

Rufus nodded, and Sam swallowed the bile that was rising in his throat as a police car pulled up and parked next to him. He got in the car and froze, both hands on the steering wheel, and didn’t breathe for the entire amount of time it took for the officer to get out, wander around to the other side of the parking lot to look at something, then disappear into the 7-11. 

He wasn’t there for Dean.

Sam breathed out shakily, then backed the Impala up and followed Rufus back to the house. Nobody said anything; the car was as silent as a tomb. When they arrived at the guesthouse, Dean got out and quickly went in. Sam parked the Impala quickly and followed his brother, but a loud click at the door along with the porch light being switched off told him he was locked out and there was no hope of getting in. Rufus was waiting to take Sam back to 7-11, so there was no point waiting around.

“Thanks for the ride,” Sam mumbled miserably as they pulled back into the street. “And thank you for following Dean. Did you know he was drunk?”

“He sideswiped me in the driveway on his way out, so yeah, not hard to pick up on.”

“Shit. You should’ve never let him leave.”

“He’s not a prisoner.”

“He should be,” Sam grumbled. “Fucking idiot.”

Rufus glanced sidelong at Sam. “He’s got a problem.”

“Several. I know.” Sam closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. He felt sick. “Are you gonna…”

“Tell Castiel? No choice.”

“I’ll pay for the repairs to the car,” Sam said quickly. “I’m the one who upset him. This is my fault.”

Rufus turned into the 7-11 and pulled up next to the Charger. “Novak’s still awake, and security protocol says I have an hour to file an initial incident report. So…”

“Yeah. I understand. I’m going to have to tell him, too. Let me look at the damage.”

Sam got out and rested his gaze on the scraped left rear fender under the harsh lighting of the parking lot. It wasn’t as bad as he feared, but then again, he had a fairly vivid imagination and had at first imagined the entire back end of the car mangled and possibly missing altogether. He went up to Rufus’ window. 

“I’m so sorry about this. Thanks again for the ride.” Sam started to walk away, but Rufus called him back.

“Sam?”

“Yes?”

“You’d better tell Castiel before I get back to the house. If he hears it from me first, it’s gonna be much worse for both of you. You know how he is.”

Sam nodded, his heart suddenly feeling encased in ice. “You’re right. I’ll call him now.”

\---------

Castiel didn’t pick up the phone, so Sam texted him to please call him. Then he waited in his car at the 7-11 in agony for almost 20 minutes, but still nothing. Then he decided to call his brother instead, and Dean surprisingly picked up right away.

“Sammy.”

“You okay..?”

 _Pause._ “No.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“I’m so fucked up,” Dean mumbled. “Fucking disaster.”

Sam felt like he was going to cry. “I...this was not your fault. I’m so sorry. Do you want to talk now, or in the morning?”

“Come over. Please.”

“I’ll be right there. Can you tell the guards to let me in?”

“Yeah.”

“K. Be there in five minutes.”

Sam hung up and raced back to Castiel’s house. Dean was outside the guard shack, waiting in the driveway, and he walked up to the Charger and tugged on the door handle. It was locked, so Sam reached over and popped it open. Dean got in, and Sam hesitated.

“Are they gonna let me in?”

“Your house.”

“But...okay. My house it is.”

Dean rested against the window and closed his eyes.

“Wanna go through McDonald’s?” Sam asked as he pulled out.

“Yeah. Hungry. You think a Happy Meal will cheer me up?”

“I think it’s legally obliged to, or else it’s false advertising.”

“Cas is going to kill me.”

Sam swallowed hard. “Let’s not think about that right now. It’s Friday night, nowhere to be tomorrow. You can, um...recover in peace, I guess.”

“Hmm.”

Sam ended up pulling through Taco Bell instead after seeing the long line at McDonald’s, but Dean was asleep. So Sam, not knowing what he liked, ordered a wide variety of things and quietly drove back to the house, where Dean staggered in like a zombie and collapsed into his former bed.

Sam sat down next to him and watched him, making sure he was still breathing, then laid back and closed his eyes. Next thing he knew, his phone’s 10am alarm was blaring from his pocket. He sat up abruptly. Dean was not in the bed with him anymore. Sam leaped up and quickly searched the entire house. Not there.

Then he grabbed his phone and opened a text message from Dean at 8am.

- _Took your car. Will bring it back by 9:30_

10:05am. Sam called him immediately, then canceled it with a huge sigh of relief as the Charger pulled up into the driveway. He ran to the front door and pulled it open to greet his brother. But instead, he found himself face to face with Rufus and another guard he didn’t know.

“Where’s Dean?” he asked calmly over the galloping of his heart as he spied the damaged BMW parked along the sidewalk. 

Rufus handed over the car keys. “Back at the house.”

“Oh shit. Thanks. You scared the crap out of me. Is he okay? Is Castiel okay? I mean, did he freak out?”

Rufus glanced at the other guard, who took the “we need some privacy” cue and walked back to the BMW.

“What happened?” Sam demanded anxiously.

Rufus took a deep breath. “Well...it’s not good. Castiel called Dean’s parole officer over to the house. They’re having a meeting now. That’s why Dean’s there.”

Sam nearly swallowed his tongue in his surprise and shock. “Oh my god. He...you know he’s on probation for a couple more years, right?”

“Yeah. So...I don’t know what’s going to happen. If you’re the praying type, you’d better get on your knees.”

\--------------

“Two and a half years in prison, Dean, just for violating your probation. _Prison_ , not jail. Then another five years in addition to that for felony drunk driving for a fourth offense. That’s what you’d be looking at if you’d gotten caught, at a minimum. Maybe a dozen more years, or life, if you’d hurt or killed anyone. Do you know how lucky you are right now to be free, and sitting in front of me in a house rather than a courtroom?”

Dean nodded, then reached out and snatched another kleenex from the box. He had cried himself almost dry twice already while being fiercely lectured by both parties for almost half an hour; so far there seemed to be no end to the available waterworks.

Bela picked her padfolio back up and looked at Castiel. Her voice was taut with disappointment and irritation. “As agreed, none of this will go on public record today. However, I’m ordering another Alcoholics Anonymous treatment program for him. This time it will be one year instead of 90 days.”

Castiel nodded. “Thank you.”

“On Monday he should take the tour of the state prison in Riverside that he might be spending a lot of time in if he doesn’t pull himself together. It’s a weekly program we do for repeat juvenile offenders in order to scare them straight. I don’t care if he’s 26, it’s exactly what he needs to see right now.”

Dean looked over at Castiel, who nodded gravely. “It’s fine. You can have the day off.”

Bela closed her notebook. “Report to the police station at 8am Monday. While we’re at it, Castiel, you should have Sam come, too, since a lot of Dean’s problems stem from his treatment of him. That will help him see what-”

“That’s not true,” Dean interjected hotly.

“Dean,” Castiel warned. “Yes, Sam will go, too.”

“Good. I have to get back home,” Bela said quickly. “Are we done here?”

Castiel stood up and offered a handshake. “Yes. I can’t thank you enough for coming over here on your personal time to handle this. Dean, stand up.”

Dean rose to his feet as he took another Kleenex.

“Dean, why don’t you walk me out to my car?” Bela suggested. 

Castiel thanked her again, then stayed behind as the pair left through the double front doors.

Bela shook her head as she spotted the damaged BMW parked behind her van at the big round fountain in front of the home.

“I’m so sorry,” Dean blurted.

“Dean...I feel like a broken record here. What do I have to do to convince you this isn’t the right path for you?”

“I just...Sam…”

Bela sighed. “Right. Sam. It’s all about Sam.” 

“You don’t understand.”

“Really? Do you know why Castiel called me over here?”

“Because he doesn’t want me to ruin his precious little tour,” Dean sniped viciously.

“No. It’s because he hasn’t given up on you. Not like your brother has, or your dad did. If he didn’t care, you’d still be drinking yourself senseless right now.”

“And nothing of value would be lost. Wait, you actually drive a minivan? Never saw you as the soccer mom type.”

“Maybe someday. We all change, Dean. You can, too. You’re better than this. I wouldn’t have driven over here on a Saturday morning if I didn’t think that. I live an hour away.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What would your mom say to you right now if she was here to see you in this state?”

Dean startled at the unexpected question. “She...uh.” He wiped his eyes again, then looked at his ring. _Her_ ring.

Bela wasn’t the hugging, affectionate type. She wasn’t a soccer mom, either, or even a mom at all. But she saw his look at the ring and took a step forward to wrap her arms around Dean before she even knew what she was doing. It was entirely inappropriate, and she started to pull back right away.

But Dean accepted the hug, pressing into the unexpected but welcome touch, then buried his face into her shoulder and burst into tears again.


	97. Chapter 97

_-So sorry to bother you. Just really worried about Dean. Do you know where he is?_

_-Out having lunch with Bela. He’s fine._

_-I suppose you and I need to talk, huh_

_-No. You’re the last person I want to talk to at the moment. See you Tuesday._

Sam blinked in surprise, then shot back:

_-Tuesday?_

_-I’m extremely busy, Sam. Stop texting me._

_-I’m sorry._

Sam sighed and set down his phone. Castiel had been curt with him before, but not like this. It hurt, truth be told, even if he fully understood the reasons for it. His heart leaped a little when his phone dinged again; he wasn’t sure he wanted to see what else Castiel had to say.

_-Got a minute?_

That was from Bobby, who had never texted him before. _Shit_. He went to the bathroom first, sprinkled his face with cold water, then cautiously replied.

_-Yes. Want me to call you?_

_-Only if it’s a good time to talk about unpleasant things. Just got off the phone with Castiel._

Sam closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath

- _There will never be a good time. So let’s just do it._

He called Bobby despite every bone in his body telling him to throw the phone in the pool and run away. The man did not waste time.

“Boy, on the list of all the dumbest things to do in the world, you went straight for the number one spot, huh?”

“I’m not the one who made a scene,” Sam retorted defensively. “You can thank Dean for that.”

“He was the loudmouth, yes. But _you_ started it.”

Sam bit his lip. “You don’t know what happened. You didn’t hear the whole thing. Besides, it’s personal. Castiel has no jurisdiction over this kind of thing.”

“Never said he did. Unfortunately for you, though, two potential investors of the tour were also in the room. Sitting right behind you two idjits, and they heard Dean say something about his wrist hurting before you went at it like a couple of savages. Guess who decided not to cough up a dime after all that?”

Sam blanched a little, then composed himself quickly. “You can’t blame me for that. I didn’t know. Dean didn’t, either.”

“Well, I gotta be honest, Sam. You two are gonna be lucky to have any hide left after this. I’ve never seen Cas so pissed off in my entire 30 years of my acquaintance with him.”

“What do you mean?” Sam’s heart was galloping. “Did he say he was going to cane us?”

“I also wanted to warn you that he asked me if I felt your alternates are up to speed. Which they are, and I told him.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s thinking of replacing us. They should be ready to take over, regardless. One of us could get hit by a train or something.”

Bobby sighed. “You are one thick-headed son of a gun, you know that? And you call your _brother_ a dumbshit?”

Sam’s mouth fell open. Bobby had never insulted him before. “Wow. Um.”

“Sam, Cas and I both know who the smart one is in your family. And it ain’t you, Stanford degree or not. I guarantee if you don’t start supporting your brother instead of badgering him into fits of hysteria, you’re gonna lose this job _and_ you’re gonna lose him. What’s that going to leave you with? You won’t have any family, or a job, or anything but your own ego to keep you busy.”

Sam was pacing around his bedroom so quickly that he was making himself dizzy. “That’s...I’m sorry, no disrespect intended, but that’s really none of your business..”

“Maybe not, Sam, but you know what is? Keeping this tour moving. You’re both endangering it with these shenanigans. That’s not even the half of it. I never thought I’d meet anyone in my life with a worse attitude than John Winchester. Guess what? You make him look like a shrinking violet in comparison.”

Sam stopped pacing and glanced up at the ceiling fan that had gotten off balance again and was making rocking noises.

“I...dad had a lot of good points.”

“Sure he did. I can name a few. But you? I got nothing. You’re just a self-absorbed, jealous, borderline sadist who delights in knocking down your brother for your own entertainment. Tell you what, Sam-”

“Bobby-”

“Dean has a few flaws, no one’s gonna argue with that. Big ones. But at least he’s not a bad person.”

Sam swallowed hard. “I see. You think I’m a bad person.”

“Yeah, I do. You’ve given me no reason to think otherwise. Every time I think you’ve come to your senses, you go lower than you did before. You know what? I’m actually too pissed off to continue this conversation. See you Tuesday.”

“Wait. What’s happening Monday?”

_Click._

Sam called back twice and was sent straight to voicemail both times.

He texted Dean for the next two hours and never got an answer.

So he called Castiel and closed his eyes tightly while the phone rang. He didn’t expect his boss to pick up - which he didn’t - and finally gave up and went for a swim.

\------------

_-Dude. Just let me know you’re okay. Tell me to fuck off, whatever. Just reply!_

It was late Sunday morning and Sam was nearly beside himself with annoyance and worry. He hadn’t heard from anyone - Dean, Castiel, Bobby, Gabriel, Bela...no one. He hadn’t been allowed into Castiel’s estate either, not even in the light of day, and drove home feeling embarrassed and lonely after his attempt to check on his brother. He was only slightly mollified at having glimpsed the Impala’s distinctive bumper through the bushes, parked way back near the guest house. 

Sam wasn’t one to do a lot of soul-searching, and as such, he remained mostly angry and indignant at being ignored and shut out. He drove over to Novak Arts Center around noon just to see if anyone was there, but drove away after noting that the parking lot was completely empty. Then, in a fit of anxiety, he drove back and parked, then went to the nearest door and swiped his badge to see if it still worked. It did. He breathed in a sigh of relief and sat at the bench in the side garden outside Castiel’s office, where someone with an exquisite sense of place and time had planted flowers with musical names. They all had little signs planted in the ground to say what they were: trumpet vine, bells of Ireland, fiddle leaf fig, bugle lily, triangle palm, drumstick primrose...

Sam had never noticed them before or stopped to appreciate them, and he smiled at the thought of how charming it all was. Then he heard a knock on the window behind his head, and he jumped in surprise and turned around to look. It was Castiel, beckoning him inside. _Fuck._ Sam had no choice, he had to go. He pulled his mind out of the garden and back into the present, then made his way around the side of the building and down the long hallway, where Castiel was waiting for him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were here,” Sam said respectfully, forcing down his inclination to run off and not come back.

“What brings you here on a Sunday?” 

“Um. Nothing,” Sam stuttered. “I...I was out running errands and just came by to...well, to see if my badge still worked.”

Castiel nodded. “I see. You don’t have to worry about that.”

Sam felt like crying in relief, but he kept a straight face and nodded. “That’s good to hear.”

“Sam, I don’t want to take you away from your errands but since you’re here, we need to talk for a minute. Sit down.”

Sam sat. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been doing a lot of-”

“I’ll lead the conversation, if you please.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry.”

“I assume Bobby told you what’s going on tomorrow.”

Sam shook his head. “No, actually. That’s part of what I was trying to find out from Dean but he’s not answering his messages.”

“Dean’s fine. He went to church with Rufus and my brothers.”

“He...he went to _church_ ? Dean _Winchester_?”

Castiel cocked his head. “Do you want to hear what’s going on tomorrow, or not?”

“Uh...”

“You need to get to the police station by 7:50am. You and Dean are going with Bela to tour the state penitentiary at Riverside.”

Sam’s jaw dropped a little. “I’m sorry, _what_?”

“Ever heard of the ‘Scared Straight’ program?”

“No. But...I can imagine what it is, with that name. Do I have to go?”

“Yes, you do. Your contract says you will complete whatever I task you with, even if it’s unusual and/or not related to music.”

“I know, sir,” Sam responded quickly. “I’m just a little surprised, that’s all. Wasn’t going to argue. Are we going to play for them at some point?”

“Play for them? No.” Castiel stopped and picked up his phone. “My ride is here.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll go.”

“How much time do you have?”

“Um. I don’t have anything to do today. Except practice, of course.”

Castiel texted back whoever was giving him a ride, then returned his attention to Sam. 

“Rufus and Dean are here. I’ve asked Dean to come in.”

“Right now?” Sam felt nauseated. “I’m not ready to do this.”

“Too bad.” Castiel stood up and went to the long hallway door to hold it open for Dean, while Sam stayed in his chair and writhed.

“Hey Sam,” Dean said as he walked in a minute later.

Sam nodded; his throat was too tight to say anything back. He was followed by Castiel, who pulled up a chair and sat together with them rather than park behind his desk.

“So. Friday night. Let’s talk about it.”

Dean and Sam exchanged worried glances, but said nothing.

“I lost two investors because of you, Sam.”

“Wait...because of _me_?” Sam exclaimed. 

“Because of you. They were sitting right behind you. Believe it or not, they weren’t upset about Dean’s reactions. They only complained about your attitude and the way you were needling him. They also told me everything you said, verbatim. Needless to say, I was horrified that you speak that way to your brother, considering how far he’s come in the same timeframe that you’ve only gotten less tolerable and seem to have lost a great deal of your already questionable maturity.”

Dean raised his eyebrows at his brother, who was quickly turning white.

“So they declined to meet with me,” Castiel continued, “because they don’t think you’ll last a month together on tour, and I wasn’t able to disagree with them after hearing about it. What do you have to say for yourself?”

 _Ouch._ Sam waited for Dean to defend him, but his brother stayed silent and watched him steadily, without any trace of satisfaction. In fact, his expression was completely blank. Sam wasn’t used to that at all; Dean was usually the most expressive and easy-to-read person on the planet.

“I was...he went through my phone. I was upset.”

“He... _went through your phone_? That’s your excuse, really?”

“Yeah. He was mad at me because of the videos you made me post on Twitter. And he was going to post that I have a baboon face...” Sam trailed off, suddenly realizing how absurd and immature he sounded. 

And now Dean’s expression changed; he shook his head a little as if to say _you’re such a dumbass_. But no, that wasn’t it. He never said things like that anymore. Not since they were teenagers. Only Sam stooped that low.

“Okay.” Castiel crossed his arms. “First things first. Nobody’s getting fired. We’ve sold too many tickets to back out now, even if I wanted to. You’re both stuck with me now that we’re within 60 days. Quit now, and you lose your entire salary _and_ get sued for breach of contract _and_ probably in consequence destroy any hope of having a musical career in the future. That last one goes for all of us. So let’s move on to the next phase. How I am I going to keep you both in check when I can’t fire you?”

Again, the brothers looked at each other and had no idea what to say.

Castiel huffed a little. “Exactly. Now you know my predicament. Considering you two were off the clock and not on property, there’s nothing I can do about what happened on Friday, even though you cost me more money than you could ever repay me.”

_Silence._

“I’m going to try something new. Sam, every time you disrespect your brother in a way that affects his morale, or performance, or behavior within my organization, you’re getting caned. Every time. Absolutely zero tolerance from this point on.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Dean? You were the one I entrusted to supervise Sam to make sure he’s doing what he’s supposed to as far as administrative matters go, and you’ve failed completely. He’s been late three times in the past two weeks, hasn’t filled in his time cards for a month, and as far as I can tell, you’ve done literally nothing about it. Probably haven’t even noticed. Am I correct?”

Dean nodded, his throat tightening. Sam wasn’t unmanageable at all; he actually did do what his brother told him without complaining, but...Dean hadn’t told him to do anything lately. “I’m sorry.”

“Alright. Then he’s your responsibility again. Make sure he knows what he has to do.” Castiel uncrossed his arms and stood up. “I’m also at fault here, which I freely admit. I’ve been too nice and not supervising either of you as closely as I should. We are too close to the tour to be having these kinds of discussions. Am I wrong?”

“No, sir.”

“Sam, you can go. I need to talk to Dean alone.”

“Yes, sir.” Sam got up and practically ran out of the office.

Castiel looked down at Dean, who was starting to tremble a little. “How would you feel if I made Bobby your boss instead of me?”

“I...that’s up to you, of course, sir. But I can tell you right now he’ll be too soft on me.”

Castiel nodded. “I shouldn’t be mad at you. I’ve been too busy with my own brothers to notice that the relations between you and Sam were becoming unsustainable. I thought things were getting better. What happened?”

“Just…” Dean felt like crying again. “I’m sorry I wasn’t doing my job. It’s hard to want to manage someone who has called you a dumbass all your life, you know? No, of course you don’t know. Sorry. Stupid question.”

“I have seven brothers, and no, that’s never been a problem. Sam’s a special case.”

Dean instantly thought back to what Bobby had told him of the way Castiel was raised, but he said nothing, not knowing how much he was supposed to know in the first place.

“Sir, I’m so very sorry for this. I don’t know what to say.”

Castiel’s expression hardened a little. “I do blame Sam for what happened in the restaurant. But that doesn’t mean I don’t blame you, too. There’s plenty of fault to go around.”

“I know.”

“You acted like a hooligan.”

“I'm sorry.”

Now Castiel’s face was even darker, and his tone hardened. “I think we need to take a few steps back and start over. When we first agreed you could join the trio, I told you to do what I say, when I say it, and how I say it. I’ve let that fall by the wayside, much to your detriment.”

Dean felt a catch in his throat. “With respect, I told you playing favorites with me was going to cause problems.”

“You weren’t wrong. Once this tour starts, Dean...no I mean, starting now, there can be no tolerance for poor behavior from either one of you. I have millions upon millions of dollars at stake, as you know.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I mean it when I say I’m holding you responsible for Sam’s professional behavior from now on. You have to step it up and keep him accountable.”

“I know. I won’t let you down, I swear.” Dean felt his eyes stinging. 

“Alright. Since you both cost me so much money this weekend, I’m taking back the clause that says you can have separate rooms and transportation on the tour. You’ll room together everywhere we go, or pay for your own room if you want. I’ve got to get some of my money back somehow.”

Dean nodded readily; that was certainly going to be a shitload of money back into Castiel’s pocket considering the quality of the hotels they were staying in.

“And Dean? Starting Tuesday I’m going to be hard on you, again, and you’re probably going to start hating me for it, but remember that whatever I do is for the best interests of all of us. Especially you.”

“I know. I appreciate you being so nice to me lately, though, and so understanding. Even if it backfired, it actually helped me get some of my confidence back. I’m so sorry I screwed it up. Do you want me to move back in with Sam?”

“No. It doesn’t cost me anything to have you stay in the guesthouse until the tour. Obviously, you’ll have to find your own place when we get back. How was your lunch with Bela?”

Dean smiled a little despite his anxiety. “Really good. I ended up spending the whole afternoon with her at the mall. She’s great.”

“Did she tell you she’s my sister’s best friend?”

“What? No. So that’s how you know her. I was wondering.”

Castiel nodded. “She’s a good person. You’re lucky to have her on your side.”

 _And you too_ , Dean thought, but he didn’t say it out loud. No chick flick moments...


	98. Chapter 98

“You okay, Sam?”

Dean had been watching his brother repeatedly wipe his forehead as they continued through the prison tour, and was getting worried that what he had assumed was anxiety was actually some kind of full-blown illness.

“Um.”

“You getting the flu or something?”

Sam shook his head and whispered, “No, I just...they have to squat and _what_?”

“Pull the cheeks apart. Yeah.”

“But...why the hell…”

“To make sure there’s no drugs up there, or shanks or whatever.”

Sam looked like he was going to vomit. “But that’s a prison, thing right? You didn’t have to do that. In the jail, I mean.”

Dean flushed hotly, and Sam went instantly green at the unspoken answer. Then the guard barked at them to be quiet, so they fell silent during the long walk along the corridors while the inmates were shouted highly profane things at the group.

Sam got greener and greener with every passing minute, although nothing was worse than that very first stop. He blanched at the group showers, the inmates handcuffed to their hospital beds, the prison cafeteria food.

“I need to go,” he said once they reached an actual cell to experience, his eyes wild when he spotted the toilet out in the open. “I’m going to pass out. There’s no way.”

“Calm down, Sam,” Dean warned quietly, genuinely afraid that his brother was going to pass out at his feet. They were led into a cell, but then Dean was pulled back out and another “inmate” put in with Sam, while Dean was taken further down the row.

“Dean,” Sam called. 

“I’m right here, Sam. Relax.”

“How the fuck are you so calm right now?”

Dean was put into a cell at the very end with a teenager that reminded him of himself at that age, but they didn’t speak at first. He couldn’t see his brother, nor could he hear him with the shouting of all the inmates across the aisle from them. Dean gathered, correctly, that those particular men were chosen for this program for their fearsome visages and loud voices. After all, the program was called “Scared Straight” for a reason. They certainly were playing it up convincingly enough, and the poor kid with Dean looked about to vomit where he stood.

“Hey. What’s your name?”

“Don’t talk to me.”

“It’s going to be okay. We’ll be out in a little bit. You alright there, soldier?”

He didn’t answer, so Dean laid on the bottom bunk and stared at the rungs of the top bunk. The men didn’t scare him. What did scare him was, again, how calm and centered he felt in a place like this. Just like before, the lack of any immediate decisions to make, coupled with knowing exactly what was expected of him, settled his mind in a way nothing else ever could. He hated that he felt this way, but there was no denying it, and there was no fighting it. So he let go and dozed for about fifteen minutes before waking up to the cell door being reopened. 

“Sam?” Dean jumped to his feet; his brother was watching him critically.

"You...you _fell asleep_?”

“Tired. Didn’t get-”

“Gentlemen,” warned the guard. “Let’s continue.”

“How the hell did you sleep through this?” Sam hissed a minute later as the brothers let themselves slide to the back of the group, “I’m so disturbed by the fact that you haven’t even blinked at any of this. It’s horrible.”

“It’s basically jail on a larger scale, and you get used to it after like a day. Calm down.”

“Get used to it? I can’t even.” Sam couldn’t, either; he was verging on sheer hysteria. “You are never, ever coming back here again, I swear to god. I’ll kill you first. After I’m done killing Castiel for making us come here. I can’t believe you’ve done this four fucking times. Why the hell would you ever break the law again after the first time?”

Dean eyed his brother warningly. “Shut up, Sam. You’re making a scene.”

“I’m leaving. I’m not a prisoner. This is bullshit. Where’s Bela?”

“Calm the fuck down, jesus. Haven’t you ever watched a prison show before?”

Sam didn’t calm down; he pushed forward and made his way up to the guide. Dean stayed behind and face-palmed, too embarrassed to intervene or even admit he knew his brother in the first place.

Then a moment later Sam was back with him. “Let’s go. Guide says since we’re guests, we can go. Come on.”

“What? No! Cas said we have to-”

“I don’t give a shit what he said. We’re leaving.” He latched on to his brother’s arm and pulled him forward; another guard was already there waiting to take them away.

“Sam. _Sam._ We can’t. I’m staying.”

“Nope.” 

Before Dean knew it he was back into the lobby of the security corridor, where they had started the tour. “You’re such a...Sam, we came with this group on a bus. Where exactly are we supposed to go now? We’re out in the middle of nowhere!”

“Come on. Let’s get our cell phones and shit and grab an Uber.”

Dean stayed put. “An Uber. From a state prison. You can’t be serious.”

They waited in line to get their phones while Dean fumed and imagined all sorts of scenarios that could occur once Castiel found out they didn’t even finish the first two hours of the half-day tour, but he made himself stay calm and not panic. After all, it was bad enough to keep Sam in check already, and two panicking brothers would accomplish exactly nothing.

Fortunately the prison operated a shuttle into the town’s Greyhound bus stop, which both brothers hopped on gratefully. Sam insisted on sitting in the back for fear of being shanked from behind by the other riders, even though Dean insisted they were employees and not escaped convicts.

By the time they walked to a nearby A&W’s and sat down for lunch, Sam had restored the color in his face but hadn’t yet said anything; he was too shell-shocked. Dean ordered a root beer float and a hot dog and disappeared into the bathroom, where he quickly pulled out his phone and texted Bela.

_-We left the tour. Sam panicked. I can explain later. Will take a cab back home._

Then, a text to Castiel. The one he’d been dreading while he worded it in his head for the last half hour.

_-Mr. Novak, I don’t know how to tell you this but Sam completely panicked and made us leave the tour before the halfway point. I fought him on it but there was no way he was going to stay. Not after they locked us in a cell for half an hour. I’m so sorry. I take complete responsibility._

Dean took a deep breath and hit send, then went to the bathroom and washed his hands, taking his time to collect his racing thoughts. As he walked back to his table, the reply came through.

_-Okay. I’d be far more disturbed if he stayed for the whole thing and it didn’t affect him at all. Are you alright?_

Dean was too surprised to reply for the moment; he put his phone back in his pocket and tried to register that response while also watching his brother for signs of another bout of hysteria. The food came, but neither of them apparently had an appetite and it went untouched for some time.

“Sam?” Dean eventually prompted as he squirted mustard on his hot dog. “You gonna be okay?”

“No. You spent...how many days did you have to spend in a place like that?”

“Altogether? Nineteen. And before you ask, _no_ , I don’t want to ever break the law and end up there again.”

“But you almost did. You drove drunk only _three_ days ago. How _could_ you?”

Dean poked at his food, then thought about the strange message Castiel had just sent. Perhaps he was right. Maybe it _was_ for the better that Sam was freaking out. This could be a good thing.

“You’re seriously asking me that question after what happened at the restaurant?”

“But…”

“Hang on. I gotta tell Bela we left,” Dean lied as he pulled out his phone and peeked at the newest message from Castiel.

- _Dean? How are you two getting home? Let me know you’re alright_

_-Sorry, we’re good. We’ll take an Uber back to the police station. I’ll let you know when we get there_

Then he flipped back to the text thread with Bela. She hadn’t replied, so Dean added that Castiel was aware and all was good. Then he put his phone away and peeled off his jacket.

When he looked back up again, Sam was crying.  
\------------

“I want you to move back in with me.”

Sam glanced at Dean, who was vigorously rubbing the space between his eyes. “Ow, _fuck_. Brain freeze. Jesus, I haven’t had a Slurpee in years. Did they always do this to us?”

“Yes. We used to say that if you didn’t have brain freeze, you don’t have a brain, so we always made sure we got it. Dean-”

“Where’s the Uber picking us up again?” 

“At the Hilton Riverside.” Sam looked at his phone’s map as he took a sip of his own Slurpee. “We’re almost there, four blocks. Did you hear what I just said?”

“Yeah. I’ll think about it.”

Sam sighed. “I just...not that I don’t appreciate Cas or anything, but he’s got a really tight hold on you, that’s all. Kinda bothers me.”

“Yeah, well, it bothers me sometimes too, but it’s exactly what I need.”

“How, Dean? _How_ is it what you need? You think he’s protecting you or something? Look at what happened Friday. He didn’t do anything to prevent that.”

“Come on, Sam. I don’t want to fight.”

“I’m not trying to fight. Just explain it to me, because I’m not getting it. At all. He made you go to church. What the fuck?”

“What?” Dean stopped and stared at his brother. “He didn’t _make_ me, thank you. He’s not even religious!”

“Then...why did you go?”

“Honestly, Sam, I just needed to get out of the house and I didn’t trust myself to go out on my own. Rufus offered a ride so I took him up on it, and we ended up having breakfast first. I actually enjoyed myself, is that okay?”

“Fine. Sorry. I just don’t like how Cas is trying to become some kind of second father to you. We have...we _had_ a dad.”

“You’re making it a much bigger deal than it is. He’s just trying to help me and establish some boundaries to stay in.”

“So you like being controlled.”

“You see any downside to it? It’s much better than being out of control. After all, he’s the reason I’m free right now. He got Michael to help me, then Bela. Hell, even Uriel. Without Cas I’d be in that prison right now, the one we were in today.”

“I don’t agree. I think the pressure of this job is causing huge problems.”

“No. You’re forgetting I got two DUI’s long before I met Cas. So far he’s doing a pretty damned good job getting me back to a good place. Know how I know? Someone complimented me the other day, and it made me happy. _Happy,_ Sam. You ever see me happy about a compliment before?”

Sam shrugged. “No. Not really, I guess. I mean, that’s good. I’m glad to hear it.”

“Gee, so convincing.”

“No, I am glad. Sorry, it’s just...the offer stands. Anytime you want to move back in, tell me. Any time he becomes overbearing or you just wanna break free, tell me and you can have your room back. Promise me you’ll tell if that happens.”

“I promise, Sam.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry about Friday, by the way. It was my fault.”

Dean shook his head. “I have to take responsibility for my part in it. Cas was right, I behaved like a hooligan. I’m 26 years old and should act my damned age.”

Sam stopped in his tracks, and Dean halted as well. “No, Dean. It was my fault. I don’t know how I could ever make it up to you. I’m so sorry.”

Dean watched him closely. “You know how to fix shit like that, and make sure it doesn’t happen again. We’ve talked about it before.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Come on. Let’s get home and go eat somewhere decent. That hot dog was horrible. Oh no...you’re not going to cry again, are you?”

Sam was holding his hand to his forehead and bending slightly over. “No. Brain freeze. Ow. Fuck.”

“Oh good, you still have a brain then. I was wondering.” Dean laughed, then kept walking. Sam followed, not quite able to laugh yet considering the mood of the day, but he did relax just a little.

\---------

The changeover from “Cas” on Sunday to “Mr. Novak” on Tuesday was deeply unsettling for both brothers. Gone was the small talk as rehearsal began, and the light sense of humor between pieces. Also missing was his patience for any mistakes whatsoever; Dean miscounted a rest twice and was nearly brought to tears by Castiel’s ruthless rebuke. 

“We’ve been playing this for eleven weeks and you come in early that more often than not. What’s the problem?”

“I need to just-”

“You’re a professional now, there’s no excuse for such poor musicianship. Don’t let it happen again. Start at measure 240.”

“Yes, sir.” Dean brought his violin up and glanced at Sam, who looked just as nervous as Dean felt. Unfortunately, because of his anxiety, Dean miscounted it again and came in a beat late.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted as Castiel stopped the piece and folded his hands into his lap.

“Your mind is obviously not on the task at hand right now, and you’re wasting our time. Go to the practice room for the rest of the hour and work on this until it’s perfect.”

Dean stood up, his heart feeling suddenly ripped in two. Being sent to a practice room mid-rehearsal as a professional musician was the equivalent of a child being made to stand in the corner, and it stung hard and fast.

He retreated silently to his favorite little square room, the one overlooking the side garden full of musical flowers, but he didn’t play. He set his violin down on the upright piano and moped for a minute, until the door suddenly popped open and startled him.

“Sam? What are you-”

“Forgot your music.” Sam handed it over. “You okay?”

Dean stood up and took it gratefully. “Embarrassed as fuck, but yeah, otherwise okay.”

“Okay. Pull it together, Dean. Everything’s going to be alright. I gotta go back.”

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m...I’m really depressed today. Like, really, really low. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Sam shrugged. “I do, and he’s sitting at his piano ready to explode like Krakatoa all over again. Can we talk about this later?”

“Of course. Sorry.”

“Work on those measures because that’s the first thing he’s going to do when you get out of the penalty box. Come on, get your head in the game. You’ve got this.”

“Thanks, Sammy.” Dean feel better all of a sudden as he picked up his violin. “Yeah, I’ve got this.”

\----------

 **14 Days Until The Tour** (*wilhelm scream*)

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Sammy?”

“You okay?”

Dean flipped through the binder in the cafeteria as Sam sat down across from him with a coffee and a cinnamon roll in hand.

“Hey Sammy. I’m just reviewing this press kit. Shit, we’ve got ten interviews in ten days. I’ve memorized my answers and all-”

“And you’ve been practicing them so they come out naturally, right? Mr. Novak was huge on that.”

“Of course.” Dean slammed the binder shut. “Hang on, I’ve got to do my tweet today.”

One original tweet per day, five replies, ten likes...every day. That was what Castiel had mandated after Dean went six whole days without a single glance at twitter. The new guidelines were fairly easy to manage, but the other day he’d replied only four times to tweets directed at him. The single sting of the cane he got afterwards still hurt.

“You have to do Instagram today as well. I’ve got to do Facebook,” Sam replied somewhat more cheerfully; he loved social media and didn’t see it as a chore at all. One Instagram post every three days, one Facebook post every four days, one Facebook Live per week.

No sweat. Sam posted dozens of times a day on Twitter and at least once on Facebook. Castiel was always complimenting him on his efforts, but...

“Still don’t get how you have more followers than me,” Sam grumbled.

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” Dean replied idly. “Plus, I’m cuter.”

“Right. Keep telling yourself that.”

They grinned at each other, then Sam dutifully cut his cinnamon roll into small pieces with a knife and fork rather than eating it by hand, which Dean always thought was ridiculous. He didn’t notice this time though, and said nothing.

“Seriously,  Dean. You do great on twitter. Never knew you were so hilarious.”

“It’s called faking it, Sam. You see me laughing?”

“We’re selling tickets by being engaged with our fans, which means money in our pockets. Just remember that.”

“Yeah, this is just great for my morale. Listen to this one: ‘I bet he spanks them if they mess up.’ I mean, come on.”

Sam shook his head. “Kinky. Don’t read that shit. Just do what you’re told and move on.”

“How am I supposed to like them if I don’t read them?”

Sam didn’t answer, so Dean cheekily typed out his reply. “In your wildest dreams, darlin’ ;)”

Then he scrolled down, completely unaware that he had just replied to a thirteen year-old girl.


	99. Chapter 99

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posting a short chapter since I'll be gone for a few days and not able to get any writing done. XOXO

_*Dean Winchester is canceled. Again!*_

“I want to make one thing absolutely clear, Dean, so that we’re on the same page and there can be no question about what I’m addressing. I’m not upset about the content of your tweet. Nowhere in your contract does it say that you can’t flirt, or whatever you were attempting to do. I’m not even the slightest bit embarrassed by the underlying connotation in regards to me, either. We’re both adults, and I’m perfectly aware it was only an attempt to be humorous. So just make sure you fully understand that what I’m about to blow up about is none of those things.”

Dean couldn’t breathe suddenly. He just couldn’t. The presence of not only Castiel, but also Chuck, Bobby, and Michael, was almost too much to handle. He hated being lectured in any situation, but this was more like an interrogation panel. So he settled for nodding instead of saying something stupid.

“That girl’s Twitter profile _clearly_ indicated she was thirteen. Your contract _clearly_ states that your social media activity must be age-appropriate to your audience. Since you obviously wouldn’t engage in sexual banter with a teenager, the only conclusion I am willing to draw is that you didn’t pay any attention to who you were responding to.”

“No, sir,” Dean confirmed miserably. “I’m so sorry. I deleted it as soon as Sam saw it, but it was too late.”

“Yes, you’ve said that. We know you’re sorry. We know you deleted it. That doesn’t fix anything, nor lessen the seriousness of the latest public spectacle you’ve unleashed upon this organization. Once again, your carelessness has cost us money, students, reputation, and time. Since nothing you say is going to help, I’m not going to ask you to explain yourself to me. Tweet out the apology Chuck drafted for you and move on. This will go away with time, although I wish you hadn’t done it two weeks before the tour.”

“Sir...the interviews tomorrow...”

“What about them?”

“What do I say?” Dean wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “They’ll ask me about this.”

“Yes they will. You’re going to have to control yourself and repeat your apology, and direct the conversation forward.”

“Can’t you just...tell them not to ask about it?” 

“Of course I could. But you’ll totally lose the lesson I’m trying to teach you about paying attention and making good choices. No, Dean. You made this bed, you have to lie in it. It’s going to be rough. Next time you’ll be more careful, I’m sure.”

Dean knew he would never get over this, that it would haunt him forever. That he would be hounded for life, never allowed to forget the five seconds he neglected to pay attention. Possibly, he would never find joy again. He knew it full well, and Castiel’s flat-out refusal to consider helping him through it hurt so bad he couldn’t even express himself.

“I’m...I let you down. Again. So sorry.”

“Let this be the last time,” Castiel said firmly. “At the very least it might take attention away from your criminal record, and your father’s, too. We’ll see. Mob mentality is a finicky thing. Do you have anything else to say to any of us?”

“Only that I willingly accept whatever punishment you feel is appropriate.”

“Good, because you’ve definitely got it coming. But I’m not deciding anything while I’m this angry. It will have to wait. Why is your brother hovering at my door?”

Dean sniffled. “He wants to take responsibility for this. Please don’t let him.”

Castiel waved Sam in. “What is it?”

“Sir, I...was distracting Dean while he was tweeting. This is my fault.”

“Nice try, but no. Dean already took the fall for it.”

“Thanks Sam,” Dean said quickly, “but it would have happened whether or not you were there. This is all me.”

Castiel then nodded at both of them. “You can both go. I suggest when you leave for the day that you take the rear exit out of the parking lot to avoid the media circus out front.”

\----------------

Dean was certain that when he found himself standing in front of Castiel’s door later that day at 5pm that he would find himself turned away in disgrace. That Novak would rather speak to the devil himself than spend five more minutes with Dean Winchester.

Dean had experienced a lot of lows in his life, but this had to be among the very lowest. He looked up and down the hallway to make sure no one was watching, then knocked quietly on the door. When Castiel opened it himself, Dean jumped back automatically as if he was expecting to be slapped.

“Come in. Sit down.”

“Uh...I, um...I’m so sorry to barge in on you. I didn’t expect you to actually let me in.”

“Sit down,” Castiel repeated as he sat down at his desk and picked up a small stack of paper.

Dean closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, twice, then went in and shut the door behind him and sat down.

“I need a minute to finish reading this,” Castiel mumbled, not looking at his anxious violinist.

“Take your time, sir.”

Dean closed his eyes and breathed some more, counting slowly like Gabriel had taught him. That really did help, a lot, and he found himself doing it more and more often to help keep his heart from racing around like a hamster wheel.

“Dean?”

Dean opened his eyes. “Yes, sir. I…”

“I’m glad you came. I want to apologize for my behavior this morning.”

“Uh…what?”

Castiel set his papers down and leaned back in his chair a little. “I expressed a complete disregard for your welfare in this situation, which wasn’t justifiable. You’ll be happy to know I’ve forbidden the interviewers from asking you questions about it.”

Dean sat up straighter, his heartbeat finally slowing down significantly. “Oh my god. Thank you. But there’s no need to apologize, sir. I get it.”

“I don’t think you do. My anger towards you hasn’t really been tempered yet. It was an incredibly stupid thing to do, and I’ve been struggling with it all day. Fortunately the fracas has already died down significantly since you issued your apology, and it looks like this is going to blow over quickly. But I...you continue to confound me, Dean. I don’t understand you. I definitely don’t trust you. Every single time you do better, every time I think you’re just about to cross over into a new level of...you know what, I really shouldn’t say anything until I’ve had more time to cool off.”

He shoved over the box of Kleenex to Dean.

“I will say, however, that the rest of your tweets do you great justice. It’s unfortunate that one misstep caused another divide between us, but you don’t seem to understand the reality of the situation. Of the damage that can be done on social media.”

Dean looked down at the floor. “It’s not just damaging you, sir. It’s damaging me, as well. I’ve told you that before, and you won’t listen to  my concerns. I think that more than anything else is what’s causing this divide. The comments I get from the ‘trolls.’ The vitriol. You say to disregard them, but I can’t. There’s a lot of truth to what they say sometimes. I don’t have the right constitution to just let insults roll off my back like Sam can.”

“You do. You’re just not trying hard enough.”

“No,” Dean insisted politely. “I don’t. Maybe I will someday, but not now. Sir, do what you want with me because of it, but when I leave your office, I’m deleting Twitter and Facebook from my phone. I’ll pay whatever fine you think I deserve for violating my contract without complaint. But I’m not getting back on them until I'm mentally in a place to handle them, and honestly, that’s probably going to be never. I’ll stay on Instagram since I can turn off comments, but that’s it. I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not going to humiliate myself any longer in order to sell more tickets.”

Castiel had crossed his arms at some point; Dean didn’t notice when. “Is that final?” he asked eventually, his eyebrows raised high.

“Yes, sir,” Dean said firmly, although his voice faltered and his hands trembled, and he didn’t feel even 10% as confident as he wanted to. “My mental health comes first. You’ve always said that, but with respect, you’ve never really practiced what you preach. Will you start now?”

_Please start now. Don’t fire me. Don’t make me go back on my convictions. Act human._

“I’m not used to my musicians defying me, Dean, or giving me ultimatums. You’ve been given the chance of a lifetime and you’re willing to throw it all away just to avoid social media?”

“No, sir. To avoid having a nervous breakdown. I’ve been on the edge of one for months. You know that.”

“And you really think social media is causing that?”

“Causing it? No. Aggravating it, absolutely. Sir, I’m _literally_ admitting I’m too weak to handle something. I’ve never done that before. You know what gave me the courage to tell you this? All the therapy you’ve paid for me to go through. Everything I’ve learned since May shows me that my problems stem from me never standing up for myself. I’m standing up for myself now, no matter what happens next. If you don’t like it, blame yourself for caring enough to make me want to get better. Thank you for that, by the way. It’s working. Really well, actually. I was even able to take two compliments last week.”

Castiel was nodding slowly to himself, and Dean was glad he had kept his tone even and persuasive. Blowing up at the man would have been a disaster.

“Alright, Dean,” he said after a few long moments of silence. “You’ve made your case. No more Twitter or Facebook.”

“Thank you, sir!”

“I do want you to stay on Instagram. Will you post every other day?”

“Yes, sir. I actually like that one.”

“Good. Well, you should go, then. Goodnight.”


	100. Chapter 100

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay I lied, here's more...this seemed like a good place to stop for a few days. Love you all xoxo

**Ten Days Later**

“Sam and Dean? Why not _Dean and Sam_?”

“I’m running the thing, so I get first billing. That’s the deal.”

“Fine.” Dean leaned back into the booth at the diner and took another long draw of his milkshake.

“Okay, how about this profile pic?”

Sam handed his phone over and and showed his brother a picture of them smiling together in front of a…of a...

“What is that? Where did we take that?”

“It’s the country’s second biggest ball of twine. Cawker City. You don’t remember?”

“Oh yeah. That was forever ago. Good picture. Of me, anyway. You look like a dork.”

“Shut up.” Despite the words, Sam was smiling. “So as agreed, we share this Twitter account. I’ll post everything and you can completely forget it exists. And you get to review every picture and video before I post. Right?”

“Just videos. I don’t take bad photos. Aren’t people going to think I’m replying to them, though? Isn’t this kind of false advertising?”

“Nope. The bio says I’m managing the account. You can pop in and make cameo appearances if you want, but isn’t that kind of missing the point considering your argument with Cas?”

Dean’s mind drifted away as the memory of that day was strongly recalled to him. Castiel hadn’t mentioned it since, except to briskly nix the idea of a community manager when Chuck got insistent during a meeting. 

“It wasn’t an argument, Sam. I told you. Where the hell is our bill?”

Just as he said that, the waiter came by and dropped the check on the table. 

“Uh, sorry,” Dean said as he blushed. The young man left with a scowl, and Dean dug out a $50 and handed it over to Sam to go up to pay for it. 

When Sam slid out of the booth, Dean peeked at his phone that had been vibrating for the past half an hour with multiple stream-of-consciousness texts from Castiel.

_-Are you packed?_

_-Car picks you up at 11am tomorrow, not 10am. Sending over a new agenda now._

_-Don’t forget to pick up your tux_

_-Here’s a link to the Washington Post article from Monday_

Dean didn’t know what to reply to first, so he decided to answer with a quick catch-all.

_-Got it all. Everything is in order. Thank you._

Castiel replied instantly.

- _I trust you’ve been eating healthy and hydrating as I instructed_

Dean looked at his chocolate milkshake and the remnants of the delicious “fried country skillet.”

- _Yes, sir. Salads for breakfast are awesome :(_

Castiel didn’t reply, so Dean got up and made his way to Sam.

“Jesus, Cas is so hung up on us eating healthy all of a sudden.”

“Yeah, well, big day tomorrow. I can’t believe it’s already here.”

“Me either.”

Dean looked outside and was startled to see a large, professional still camera and a few girls with iPhones pointing in his direction.

“What the hell?” he muttered as he turned away and looked around. “Who’s here? Tom Cruise or something?”

"Tom Cruise isn't the thing anymore. Maybe the sparkly vampire guy."

Dean’s phone buzzed again, and he pulled it out automatically. It was from Castiel again, a screenshot of a tweet with a picture of Dean and Sam, and...what they were currently wearing? And in this exact restaurant, at the table they just…and the food... _ohhhhhhh, fuck._

“They’re here for us, Sam! Some dumbass customer tweeted a photo of us eating. Why the hell would anyone want to see that?”

“Ha, awesome.” Sam turned around and waved at the cameras while Dean buried his head in his phone and tried his best to make light of the situation.

_-Ok. Sam had the salad. I plead guilty to eating real food_

_-I thought I had made it clear to you how important it_

Dean irritably jammed his phone back into his pocket without reading the rest of the text. _  
_

“Let’s go, Sam. Come on.”

\-----------

Dean was quiet in the private plane on the way to Washington DC. He didn’t like flying, but even worse, he didn’t like the way Castiel had been looking at him all morning. He tried to avoid it by closing his eyes and pretending to sleep, but every small bump of turbulence made his eyes fly open in slight panic. That, in turn, would cause Castiel to look up from his iPad and narrow his eyes at his anxious violinist.

Sam was asleep almost from the moment they had taken off, while Bobby was deep in conversation with Chuck, so Dean didn’t have anyone to talk to. After a while he gave up the pretense of trying to sleep and pulled out his own iPad in order to review the tour schedule again.

He ended up clicking on an email containing links to all the interviews they had done for the past two weeks. Much to Dean’s own surprise, he had flourished in front of the television cameras and microphones. Actually enjoyed it, even. Not that he shouldn’t have been perfectly comfortable; after all, he was a musician and very used to being on a public stage.

But still. Considering all he’d been through and the pervasive fear of the questions that could be asked, he really thought he was going to be a total disaster. Sam had done well, too, but Bobby had remarked at one point that it was clear that Dean was going to end up being the spokesperson for the group. 

Naturally Dean recoiled at that a little, but he tried not to think about it as he put on his headphones and settled down to the watch the videos. Unfortunately that endeavor lasted all of ten seconds; he didn’t have the wifi password for the plane’s connection. He glanced up furtively at Castiel, who was watching him again. And frowning. Again.

“Something wrong, sir?” Dean finally asked in a strangled tone.

“In two days we have the press night and gala at the Ritz-Carlton.”

“Yes. I was actually just about to logon now and re-read the brief, but I don’t have the wifi password.”

“Put the iPad down for a second.”

Dean let it flop into his lap. Castiel was visibly upset, there was no denying that now. Dean steeled himself a little and sat up straighter in his very comfortable leather seat.

“Thank you. What did you have for breakfast this morning?”

“I...I actually haven’t eaten yet.”

“It’s noon. So you’re telling me I just watched you drink three cups of coffee on an empty stomach?”

 _Shit._ Dean picked up the little menu that was on the side table. 

“Um. Yes. I should eat now.”

“Thank you. Drink only water for the rest of the day.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dean?”

“Yes?”

Castiel rested his iPad on his knee and cocked his head a little. “I’m proud of you,” he said simply.

“You…” Dean swallowed a few times as he took in that completely unexpected remark. “I...thank you. Sorry, I didn’t mean to look at you like that. I thought you were mad at me?”

“I can be two things at once, and I am. But we’ll leave that part for another time. Now’s not the place. I actually never thought this moment would come. That you would ever make it on the plane to DC with me. I’m glad you’re here.”

Dean looked down at the menu, his eyes blurring as they settled on the fruit bowl and egg white omelet option. Cas hadn’t brought up the lie from the diner again, nor had Dean ever responded to his boss’s dissatisfaction. They both were acting like it had never happened.

“Wouldn’t be here if not for you,” he answered stiffly. “Of course. I mean, thank you Captain Obvious, right?”

“Hmmm. Were you trying to watch the interviews earlier?” Castiel asked mildly.

“Uh, yes, but...”

“They can keep. I want you to get some rest after you eat. My guards said your lights were on all night. We have a lot to do when we get to DC and your full energy and attention will be required.”

Dean had fallen asleep fully clothed in his bed, actually, with the remote control in one hand and his phone in the other. The four hours he got in that position were more restful than the eight from the previous night, but he didn’t say that. 

“Okay, but I’ve never been able to sleep on planes.”

“I didn’t say sleep. I said rest.”

So Dean ordered his food, forced it down with a bottle of water, then laid his seat completely flat with the help of his brother, who had been awakened by the commotion of Dean accidentally knocking his tray over into the aisle and breaking two glasses. He had a hard time getting comfortable despite the luxury, what with Castiel watching him so closely less than three feet away - it rather felt like being on display in an operating room - but then the cabin lights were dimmed and his window shades closed, and he felt better.

_...I'm proud of you..._

When Dean opened his eyes again, the Washington Monument was just visible from his window, but it felt like only two minutes had passed since the Gulfstream had been quietly gliding over the plains of his home state of Kansas.


	101. Chapter 101

_I’m proud of you…_

_...but you should really be in prison…_

_...where you feel more at home than you ever have anywhere else..._

Dean was unsteady and a bit groggy as the group arose to disembark the plane, his legs having fallen asleep from laying at a weird angle and not quite set to rights yet. Castiel was in an unusual hurry; the brothers learned that the plane had majorly diverted course while they were out cold due to a thunderstorm over Virginia, and had landed almost an hour late.

“Sam?” Castiel called over his shoulder as moved forward to the door with his briefcase.

“Sir?”

“There are two cars taking us to the hotel. You and Chuck will ride with me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dean exchanged tired glances with his brother but said nothing; it was for the best that only one of them really understood that Castiel was avoiding his violinist because - proud or not - he was still thoroughly pissed off about Dean lying to him about his lack of healthy eating.

“Hey, stop getting fresh back there,” Dean complained as the pointier end of Sam’s cello case poked into his ass in the narrow airplane aisle. “Why didn’t you put that thing down in cargo? It got a more comfortable bed than I did.”

“Cargo hold isn’t pressurized,” Sam frowned. “You want this to explode or something?”

“It’s not gonna explode,” Dean shot back automatically as he reached into the overhead bin to retrieve his million-dollar violin. “It would just freeze-dry and implode into little toothpicks and probably sound a lot better for it.”

“And still more manly than your squeaky little fiddlestick. You know what they say about the size of a man’s instrument.”

Despite what he had intended to be playful banter, Dean found his temper suddenly piqued; there were few things in the world lately that could upset him _that_ quickly, and Sam knew it. He fucking _knew_ Dean hated size jokes.

“Boys,” Chuck hollered from the rear of the plane. “What’s the hold up? Some of us would like to get off this rocket and take a shit at zero mph, if you don’t mind.”

Sam smirked, then brutishly nudged his brother forward with his cello case again. “Go.”

“Stop pushing me, bitch!” Dean snapped furiously, far too loudly, as he almost fell forward with his violin in hand.

Everyone on the plane froze as if caught in a camera flash, and Dean turned bright red as he spun around to see Castiel looking backwards into the cabin. _Oh. Great timing. Just fucking great._

Sam immediately opened his mouth to explain. “Sorry, my fault, I…”

Castiel shook his head almost imperceptibly, and the disappointed look on his face nearly crushed Dean’s heart into a raisin.

“I don’t care who did what. Stop acting like children! That goes for you too, Chuck.”

There was a chorus of _sorry_ from the three chastised men, then Castiel disappeared again down the stairway.

“Nice job, guys,” Bobby groaned. “Can we go, please?”

“This is a million-dollar violin, you dumbass,” Dean snapped at Sam as he cradled the precious item under his arm. “Don’t fucking do that again.”

“For pete’s sake, just go!” Bobby said again. “Idjit.”

“Excuse me?” Dean flared as he looked over his shoulder with an angry glare. 

“Hey,” Sam warned softly. “Cool it. Come on.”

Dean ignored him and kept his glare fixed on Bobby. “What did you just call me? An idiot?”

“Sure did, and you keep confirming it every time you open your mouth.”

Sam held up a hand just as Dean looked like he was going to charge backwards over the airplane seats to get to Bobby.

“I swear to god, Dean, if you don’t get off this plane right now-”

“I want an apology first.”

“I’m sorry for shoving-”

“Not from you.” Dean jabbed a thumb back over his shoulder. “From him.”

“Get comfy then, cuz you ain’t getting one,” said Bobby with a shrug.

Dean started to say something else, but the vibration of someone coming back up the stairs into the plane stopped him and he turned around face-first just as Castiel reappeared.

“What’s the hold up?”

“Bobby just called me an idiot and I’m not moving until he apologizes,” Dean blurted hotly, and everyone on the plane froze - including the two pilots who had just emerged from the cockpit.

For a few moments Castiel looked like he was going to blow up, but he gathered himself and nodded calmly.  
“Alright, talk it out. Everyone else off the plane, please.”

Dean stepped aside to let Sam and Chuck pass, while resuming his glare at the artistic director. Once the pilots had stepped off and they were alone, Dean looked at Bobby and spoke again.

“My dad called me an idiot. All the time. No one else is allowed to do that, ever. Just so you know. Even if I’m acting like one.”

Bobby nodded. “Noted. You okay?”

“No, I’m...wait, what? Yes, I’m fine.”

“Really? Because I’ve called you an idjit at least a dozen times this month and you’ve never even blinked. Most of the time, it’s a term of endearment.”

Dean shrugged. “Whatever. I don’t like it. Don’t fucking call me that.”

“Don’t act like one, then. It’s that simple.”

At that moment Dean resigned himself to the fact that he was never going to get his apology, but he also inwardly acknowledged he was wildly overreacting to someone else’s comments, and this temper tantrum had nothing to do with Bobby and Sam.

“Bobby?”

“What?”

Dean sighed deeply and counted to ten to calm his nerves. “Castiel said he was proud of me. Like an hour after we took off. And…”

Bobby nodded, his eyes creased with worry. “Well, crap.”

Dean hesitated. “Yeah. Sorry, I…fuck, this is crazy. I can’t believe we’re here. I don’t want to get off this plane. I’m… _shit_. Bobby, I don’t know how else to say it. I’m fucking scared I’m going to let him down, okay? That I’m going to embarrass him and Sam.”

Bobby shook his head. “The only person you’re embarrassing right now is yourself, kiddo.”

Dean took a deep breath. “I know. Sorry I yelled at you.”

“Didn’t take it personally.”

“He shouldn’t have said it. Now I’m gonna…” _Go into a downward spiral and forget how to play violin? Have a nervous breakdown? Start drinking again? All of the above?_

Bobby replied emphatically. “I don’t know how you’re gonna deal with it, but you’d better figure it out fast. Can we go now and continue this chat at the hotel? I’m an old man, I’m tired.”

 _Hotel_ ... _yes_...the room would most likely have a fully stocked minibar. A suddenly eager Dean shouldered his violin again and lifted his bag, then gestured towards the cockpit door.

“After you, grandpa.”

Bobby shook his head and grinned. “Idjit.”

Less than a minute later Dean suddenly found himself in a car with Castiel alone. 

“Oh...I thought Sam and Chuck were riding with you?”

“Change of plans. Let’s have a chat.”

Dean pulled off his jacket arm by arm and suppressed the urge to sigh. The driver pulled out of the airport carefully, and Dean’s attention was suddenly overtaken by the sight of the distinctive sightlines of Dulles Airport’s main terminal. He mused idly that Sammy had always loved modern architecture; it was likely he was doing exactly the same kind of gaping from the other car. Castiel didn’t protest as Dean pulled out his phone and snapped a few pictures.

“Never been here before, I take it.”

“No. There’s a lot more open space than I expected. So many trees.”

“That’s because we’re in Virginia, not DC. I had actually wanted to land at Reagan Airport, which is closer to the hotel, but that requires all sorts of security clearances that we didn’t have time to...what are you doing?”

Dean looked up from his phone. “Sorry, just texting Sam.”

“Put it down. I want to talk to you. Do you want some water?”

Dean wedged his phone between his legs and reached out for the proffered bottle. “Thank you. Look, I’m sorry for what happened on the plane. Thanks for letting me talk it out with Bobby, we’re fine now.”

“Not good enough, Dean. We’re going to nip this in the bud right now. It’s important that I understand what set you off and what we can do to prevent it from happening again.”

“It was nothing. I’m fine.”

Castiel looked far from convinced, and his tone deepened. “I realize you and Bobby have a history that extends long before I came into the picture, but just so we’re clear, absolutely no disrespect towards him will ever be tolerated. Nor the reverse. I will have a talk with him as well.”

Dean closed his eyes and counted to ten while inhaling slowly. “Cas...sir, I...I just had a moment. I’m fine. I promise. Please don’t talk to Bobby. It wasn’t his fault.”

“And what about Sam?”

“Sam’s my brother, it’s practically his job to annoy me. I’m fine. Can we...” Dean’s stomach flipped over and over suddenly, and he had trouble catching his breath.

“What’s wrong?”

“Need air,” Dean gasped as he reached over to roll down his window. “Oh shit. I’m going to throw up.”

Castiel looked at the driver in the rearview mirror and nodded; the man changed lanes quickly and gunned it onto the exit ramp. 

“Dean, we’re stopping. Hang on.”

“I’ll pull into the McDonald’s,” the driver said calmly.

“Thank you,” Castiel replied, and he averted his eyes away from his pale violinist and said nothing further until his cell phone rang with Chuck’s number.

“We’re fine. Just pulling over to use the restroom. Keep going, we’ll be a few minutes behind you.”

He hung up without waiting for any reply; at that very moment Dean threw up profusely into his own lap. The driver pulled into the parking lot seconds later and quickly jumped out.

“I have towels in the trunk,” he said as he disappeared. Castiel got out of the car and followed him back rather than be further witness to Dean’s misery, then pulled his phone out again.

“Chuck, send the van driver with the luggage to me. We’re at the McDonald’s we just passed. I’ll explain later, just get him back here quickly. You guys keep going to the hotel. Thanks.”

There was a small Sheraton hotel immediately next door in the shared parking lot, so Castiel walked in and asked for a room. The clerk languidly complied, and by the time he got back to the car Dean was out, dried off, and his color restored. Castiel discreetly handed him the room key.

“Room 102, first floor. Just go. I’ll have the driver bring your suitcases to you so you can change.”

“Oh my god,” Dean breathed. “I’m so sorry. This is so emb-”

“Don’t apologize. Go.”

Dean went reluctantly, and Castiel waved at the van as it pulled in. He tried to fight back his irritation as he spotted the other towncar behind them, but did not succeed in doing so.

“I told you to keep going!” he snapped at his bewildered manager as the latter emerged from the car.

“Sorry, I wanted to check on you guys. What’s-”

“Forget it. Get Sam out here.”

Sam heard the directive and immediately popped out of the other side of the car, at a safe distance from his irate boss.

“Sir?”

“Come here, Sam,” Castiel commanded as he turned away and walked a short distance from the car. He heard rather than saw his very tall and concerned cellist approaching him.

“Take Dean’s suitcases to him in that hotel. Room 102. He’ll explain what happened. You two can leave when you’re ready, the room is paid for. I’ve instructed the driver to wait for you, so call him when you’re ready. Don’t worry about how long it takes, I’ll pay for it.”

Sam’s face was a picture of surprise and concern, but Castiel didn’t elaborate. He got into the other car with Chuck and Bobby, leaving Sam staring after him. 

“What happened?” he blurted out to the very subdued and gloomy towncar driver once the other car had left the lot.

“The guy he was with threw up in my car. I gotta go get it cleaned.”

“He’s my brother. I’m so sorry. Excuse me for a sec.” Sam went to the van and pulled Dean’s three green suitcases out, then dug out his wallet and walked over to hand the town car driver two hundred dollars. “I’m so sorry. Here’s some money for the cleaning. We’ll call a taxi, don’t worry about coming back to get us. Thanks so much.”

\--------

“Dude. You’re shaking. Do I need to call a doctor?”

“Nah. I’m fine. Water was just a little cold, that’s all.”

Sam scoffed. “Don’t lie. You could have suffocated with all that steam. Hell, I almost suffocated waiting out here for you for over an hour.”

Dean pulled a clean Henley on over his head and disappeared back into the bathroom. “Sorry I took so long, but I’m feeling back to normal now. Can you call the taxi, please? I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

“Take your time. We don’t have to be anywhere for hours. Just take it easy.”

“I’m fine,” Dean yelled out as he towel-dried his hair. “Just got a little carsick, that’s all.”

“Car sick. Right. Fuck, Dean. Cas scared the shit out of me. Thought he fired you and was dumping you off here or something.”

“Yeah, well maybe he should,” Dean muttered under his breath.

“What?”

“Oh, fuck!” Dean screamed from the bathroom. “Fuck!”

Sam jumped up and ran in, half-expecting to find his brother bleeding out all over the floor. “What the hell?”

“I left my violin in the car!”

Sam gasped, then whipped out his phone. “Oh, shit. I don’t have the driver’s number. We’re gonna have to call Chuck.”

“Oh my fucking god. I am so dead.”

“You’re fine. Calm down.”

Despite his words, Sam was shaking and scared when he called Castiel’s manager. It seemed to take forever for the ringer to connect, and the blood had completely drained out of Dean’s face in the few seconds since he’d discovered his grave error.

“He’s not answering.”

“Oh my fucking god,” Dean repeated as he leaned against the wall, his still-wet hair making the wall behind him drip with water. “I’m going to throw up again.”

“Shhh. No you’re not. I’ll text him. Go finish getting ready, I’ve got this.” Sam called again as Dean went back into the bathroom and was sent straight to voicemail. Then he sent a frantic text, his nervousness making him inattentive to spell check and grammar.

- _Chuck, sorry to bother. I need number for teh driver please. We’re almost to leave_

_/He was instructed to wait there for you_

_-I gave him money and told to go we’d call a taxi. We left something in the car so can you please just give me his number? ThX_

_/Hang on_

“Dean?” called Sam worriedly through the bathroom door. “Are you alright?”

“Hnnnnng.”

Sam popped open the door and peeked around it. Dean was sitting motionless on the edge of the tub, naked from the waist down, holding his head in his hands.

“Dude, get dressed. Come on. Chuck’s getting me the number of the driver. It’s going to be okay.”

“I threw up again. Sam…”

“Okay. You’ll feel better soon, just had to get it out of your system.”

“ _Sam._ Answer.”

“What?”

Dean was pale. “Your phone. Ringing.”

Sam dashed back out into the room and snatched his phone off the TV stand. It was Castiel.

“Sam? Why did you send the driver away?”

“I...his car was full of vomit, for one thing. We’ll just take a taxi.”

“That’s an exaggeration. I told you he would wait for you, and that you were to call him when you two were ready to leave.”

“Right, well...I just asked Chuck for his number so that I could call him. So-”

“Because you left something in his car,” Castiel snapped. “Not because you’re ready to go.”

Sam peeked around the corner into the bathroom; Dean was now standing up at the sink and splashing water on his face.

“Um, right. I left something in the car and wanted to see if he could bring it back, that’s all.”

“How could you leave something in that car? You were riding with me.”

 _Shit. Fuck. Red Alert._ “Right, sorry. I meant Dean left something. Can we call the driver now, if Chuck can send me his number?”

“Sam, I’m extremely disappointed with you. I specifically told you to ride with that car, and you paid him off and sent it away. Then you lied to me about-”

“Yes, I did all that, I’m sorry,” Sam interrupted impatiently as he hurried to the far corner of the room so his brother wouldn’t hear. “I was worried about Dean. Can I _please_ just have the number so we can get the hell out of here?”

“Chuck has already texted it to you. We’ll talk about this later in more depth. I expect you to remember to address me with more respect at that time.”

Sam closed his eyes and sighed to himself. “Yes, sir. Sorry. Dean is still sick, by the way. I mean, not that you even care since you didn’t even ask about him. But we’ll be on the way shortly since he’s determined not to let you down.”

There was silence on the other end of the line, and Sam instantly regretted his words. His ass involuntarily clenched at the thought of how Castiel would probably handle it later. 

“Text me when you pull up to the hotel,” Castiel replied tightly, then he hung up.

_Fuck. I’m so dead, too. This trio just turned into a solo act..._

“Everything okay, Sammy?”

“Yeah. Got the driver’s number, calling him now. You okay?”

“No.”

“Okay. Hang in there.”

\------------

- _We’re here. Unloading the car at valet. We need to speak with you immediately. Are you available?_

_/ I’m in a meeting. Is it urgent_

_\- Very_

_/ Come to the Columbia room. Downstairs next to FedEx office_

“Oh my god, Sam,” Dean moaned as they walked into the hotel. “He’s going to kill me. He’s going to fucking kill me.”

“No, he’s going to sue the shit out of that driver for leaving when he was supposed to stay with us.”

“I can’t do this.”

“You have to. Come on.”

They made their way downstairs, Dean dragging his feet every inch of the way.

“Sam…”

“Come on.” Dean grabbed his brother by the arm and dragged him into the Columbia Room, where Castiel was sitting with Chuck and Bobby.

“What’s wrong?” Castiel asked, instantly alarmed at the look on Dean’s face.

“My violin is missing,” Dean blurted as he broke into tears again. “I’m so sorry. I’m fucking sorry, I can’t even begin to tell you. I’m so fired, I know, don’t sugar coat it.”

Bobby looked aghast and the brothers and gasped. “What do you mean, it’s _missing_?”

“I left it in the car and it was stolen out of the backseat when the driver left his car at the detailing place.”

Castiel looked at Sam, his face darkening to a terrible shade of purple. “The car _you_ sent away against my express instructions?”

Sam nodded. 

“Have you filed a police report?” Chuck asked as he rested a calming hand on Castiel’s arm. 

“Yes, sir,” Sam responded flatly. “That’s why we’re so late getting to the hotel. We also filed a report with the car company and the car spa, and they’re looking into it.”

“ _Looking into it_ ,” Castiel parroted ominously as he removed Chuck’s hand.

“I’m going to throw up again,” Dean muttered as he turned and ran out the door.

Sam took a deep breath as he fought down the urge to follow his brother. “Mr. Novak, this is my fault. I’ll take complete responsibility.”

“Damned right you will. Leave this room. I don’t want to talk to you or see you until further notice.”

“Understood. What about Dean? You need to be nice to him, he’s falling apart about this.”

“Trust me, I’m pinning this one squarely on you. Get out.”

Sam shrugged, then left the room and went into the men’s restroom down the hall. Dean was there, but he wasn’t throwing up or freaking out. He was just staring at himself in the mirror, apparently not seeing anything at all in his reflection.

“Dean, it’s okay. He has connections and he’ll get you another one before Saturday.”

“Is that what he said?”

“Well, not yet. But he will.”

“If he doesn’t fire me.”

“He can’t. Take a deep breath.”

Dean turned to look at his brother. “How the hell are you so calm?”

“I could go hysterical if you want, but that’s not helpful. Let’s go to our room. Come on.”

“I’m so dizzy.”

“We’ll order some food. It’s been a day. Come on. I need a shower.”

\--------

“What the fuck, Dean?” Sam exclaimed as he walked back into the room after taking a luxuriously long shower. “What did you do?”

“Gimme a break. Needed to take the edge off.”

“ _Edge off_? There are like…” he silently counted the little glass bottles on the nightstand. “Jesus fucking Christ. You’re completely wasted.”

“Yup.” Dean burped a little, then laid down under the sheets. “Feels fucking good, too.”

“Oh my god.”

Sam was genuinely upset, not just exaggerating for the sake of his brother. He calmly changed into sweats and t-shirt, then exploded into a volcanic tirade that would have made John Winchester shudder. Dean was reduced to tears within a few minutes, and begged Sam to stop.

They had had this kind of blowout before. After Dean’s first DUI, after his self-sabotage in dealing with Lisa’s departure, and even when they were much younger and Dean skipped school constantly. Sam had always been a big brother to his big brother, there was no denying.

But this...it was different. Entirely different.

Sam wasn’t insulting him. Wasn’t degrading him. Wasn’t trying to make him feel small.

No, it was _completely_ different. Unexpected. And that upset Dean more than anything else, without him realizing why.

_...you have so much potential if you would just believe in yourself half as much as everyone else does..._

_...so many people would kill for this opportunity, why not you? Why sabotage it?…_

_...you have everything you need to be great, and you will, don’t let dad win…_

_...this is a temporary setback, you better not fucking believe you’re incapable of succeeding…_

_...I’m going to fucking monitor you like a prison guard because I care about you and I love you…_

“Sam, stop,” Dean eventually pleaded. “I’m running out of Kleenex here.”

“Whole roll of toilet paper in the bathroom you can use. I’m not even close to being done. This is so fucking messed up, and you know why? You always said that you don’t want to be fixed. That you’re not a charity case. Well, you were wrong. That’s exactly what you need, because you haven’t been given the chance to shine, like ever. This is so beyond fucked up. You’re better than this. I swear to god if you touch another drink while we’re on this tour, I’m going to…”

Dean rolled up the last kleenex and rubbed his sore nose with it. “Going to what?”

“You look like fucking Rudolph.”

“What?” Dean asked, not sure he’d heard correctly.

“Rudolph. The red-nosed reindeer.”

“Shut up, bitch.” Dean tossed a handful of tissues at his brother.

“Don’t get those snot rags near me, jerk.”

They both fell quiet, and Dean laid back and studied the ceiling. The crown molding and plasterwork were intricate and gorgeous, and his thoughts on Sam’s tirade were temporarily set aside as his eyes wandered for several minutes along the leaves and scrolls.

“I’m sorry I let you down, Dean,” Sam said softly, breaking into his brother’s thoughts.

Dean looked back at Sam’s gloomy expression. “What are you talking about? I would have sent the car away, too. Dude, stop it. This is not your fault. I’m the one who left the violin behind.”

“I didn’t mean that.” Now Sam was sniffling.

“What? Okay, now _you_ need some snot rags. I heard there was a roll of toilet paper in the bathroom.”

“I meant...when we were growing up. I never stood up for you. You always stood up for me. Took the fall for me. I’m sorry I never returned the favor.”

“I’m your big brother, Sam. It was my job.”

Sam shook his head. “I always sided with dad.”

“We’ve talked about this before. It’s in the past. No chick flick moments.”

“That’s not what I’m doing. This is my fault. I...not the violin missing, I mean. Just...you. _You’re_ my fault. You deserve so much better than you always got from me and dad.” He wiped his nose with his sleeve. “I’m sorry.”

Dean wanted to argue with that. He really did. He wanted to tell Sam his belittling and chiding and snarking over the years made no difference. That Dean was going to be this way no matter what, and that no one could change that or alter his course of self-destruction.

That he was born broken and always would be.

He would have told Sam that three months ago. Maybe two months ago. But his recent therapy had shown him that his true problem wasn’t that he felt like he didn’t deserve the bad things that happened to him. It was that he felt he didn’t deserve the _good_ things that happened to him. Like this tour. 

And yes, that was dad and Sam’s fault. Directly. Unequivocally.

So Dean didn’t argue. 

“I’m trying to forgive you guys, Sam. I really am. I’ll get there. Be patient with me. Please.”

Then he pulled the covers up over his eyes and buried his head in the stack of plush feather pillows.

He heard Sam leaving a few moments later and didn’t try to stop him.


	102. Chapter 102

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the rollercoaster of Cas and Dean plummets down another big hill

“Dean, come in. Shut the door and sit down right there.”

The room was some kind of parlor setup, with a conference table in the middle and a kitchen off to the left. The doors to the bedroom and bathroom were closed, which made Dean a little more at ease. It definitely felt strange and overly-intimate being in his boss’s hotel room, but he quietly pulled a chair out and sat. 

“You have a hangover,” Castiel observed as he poured two glasses of ginger ale in the kitchen.

“Yes, sir. Had a bit of a rough day yesterday.”

“I’m aware of that. I’m afraid today isn’t going to be much better.”

Dean didn’t reply; he was busy staring at the papers on the table. His contract and Sam’s, side by side, along with a flight itinerary to DC for Sam’s alternate. His brother hadn’t been in the room when Dean woke up; in fact, he hadn’t seen him since their blowout last night.

“Sorry to ask, sir. Do you know where Sam is?”

“No.” His tone clearly indicated he didn’t care, either.

“He was...we had a fight last night.”

Castiel walked over and set down the glass in front of Dean. “I fought with him as well. That’s what I want to talk to you about. First of all, other than the hangover, how are you feeling?”

Dean shrugged a little helplessly. “Depressed, scared, embarrassed. And a million other things.”

“Hmmm.” Castiel sat down on Dean’s right side. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I may as well come out with it. I have a meeting with Sam at 11am, and I’m going to fire him. I’m sorry, Dean. This is not what I wanted, but after last night I have no choice.”

Dean nodded without even realizing it. His heart seized up suddenly, and the corners of his vision went sparkly grey. He said nothing.

“I offered him an alternative course so that I could sleep on it in order not to do something rash while I was so angry, but when I woke up this morning I knew it was over. Your brother and I will never be able to survive seven months on tour, and I have my doubts even the two of you could survive a week.”

“The violin was my fault,” Dean said quietly. “I’m the one who left it in the car. I told Sam to send the driver away.”

“You’re lying, Dean. Don’t make things worse for yourself. We have to discuss what we’re going to do about your instrument. I’ve made contact with a few friends at Georgetown and they’ve connected me with the music department at Johns Hopkins. That’s in Baltimore. At 3pm today you and Bobby are going to drive up and check out their violins, some of which have more history than the one you lost. Then they will loan it to use for the tour.”

Dean nodded again, his entire body numb and cold. “Thank you, sir. I just can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

“We’re very fortunate that your violin was insured against theft.”

“It was?”

“Yes. So I want you to stop obsessing about it and move on. There’s literally nothing we can do until it’s found, or not. Tomorrow you need to practice on the new one you select today for as much time as you can manage. I obtained a rehearsal room at the Kennedy Center for us the day after that, so that you and I and Christian can get up to speed before the concert on Saturday. He will arrive tomorrow night.”

Dean felt a single, tiny tear drop down his cheek, but he didn’t move to brush it away.

“I can’t do this. I want to go home. With Sam.”

“You’re contractually obligated to stay.”

“I _can’t!_  I’ve already fucked everything up and we haven’t even been here 24 hours.”

Castiel seemed to fully expect this was coming, since his tone had exactly zero amount of surprise to it. “I repeat, you are contractually obligated to stay. That isn’t something to be taken lightly. If you fight with me about it, we’re going to have an incredibly serious problem on our hands.”

“But my alternate-”

“ _Dean._  The answer is no.”

There was a knock on the door, and Castiel got up to open it. “Why are you interrupting me? I told you I was in a meeting.”

“Got news, boss, it can’t wait.” Bobby stepped in and looked at Dean blankly, then back to Castiel. “Need to talk to you alone, please.”

They went into the bedroom, leaving Dean silently dripping another tear onto the glass dining room table. He looked at the little minibar in the corner, but ignored the urge to get up and dig around in it for a drink. Then he pulled out his phone.

_-Sammy? You ok?_

_/I’m good. You?_

_-Where are you?_

_/In the Starbucks in the hotel. Got a meeting with Cas in half an hour. Not sure I’ll make it out alive._

_-I’m meeting with him before you_

_/Ok. Don’t worry. I’m going to make this right with him. Take my punishment and be a man. I’m so fucking sorry we’re starting the tour this way. He better not be blaming you for the violin_

Dean took a deep breath and tried not to panic. Sam didn’t know he was being fired. _Fuck._

- _It was insured. What happened last night? He said you were fighting_

_/Yeah I had some choice words. I regret them. Been practicing my apology for hours_

_-What if he doesn’t accept it? What if he fires you_

_/He won’t. This whole tour sold tickets based on the fact that we’re brothers. I’ll be fine. I’m so sorry Dean. Gonna make this up to you however I can._

_-Sam, you better brace yourself. He’s really pissed off_

_/I know. I got this. When are you meeting with him?_

_-Now. He’s coming_

_/Okay. Don’t take the blame. This was all me and I’m going to be fine. We’re gonna have such a good time traipsing around the world. Love you bro_

“Dean, you’re not texting Sam what I said, are you?”

Dean set his phone facedown on the table as Castiel seated himself again, with Bobby at his side. “No, sir. Of course not. I was just checking to see if he was okay. Which he is, he’s at Starbucks.”

“Okay. Well, we need-”

“It wasn’t Sam’s fault. None of this was. If you’re going to blame anyone, blame me.”

Castiel raised one eyebrow way up. “I’m not releasing him because of the violin going missing. His terrible attitude towards me is what sealed this deal. Or broke it, rather.”

“I’m not touring without him,” Dean blurted.

“Excuse me?”

“I said...” Dean was sweating. “If he goes, I go. With respect, sir.”

Castiel leaned back in his chair a little. “Be careful what you say, Dean. You’re crossing into highly dangerous territory with a threat like that.”

“I’m not trying to make a threat,” Dean amended, a little desperately. “I meant that I literally can’t do this tour without him. I need him to keep me sane.”

“ _Need_ him? He’s the cause of all your problems. And now, my problems. Both of us are far better off without him.”

Dean looked towards the man sitting beside his boss. “Bobby, please. Feel free to jump in here anytime. He’s my brother!”

“Actually, I agree with Cas. You didn’t hear the way Sam went off on him last night.”

_Fuck._

“Okay. Fine. You said you marketing this tour around us being brothers. People bought tickets for it because of that, right?”

“Correct,” Castiel answered calmly, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t know what your point is by bringing that up. I’m not letting you out of your contract. Period.”

“My point is that you need us. I need Sam. We all need each other. Don’t fire him over...over...what did he say, exactly?”

“He told me to leave you alone because I’m turning you into someone he doesn’t even recognize.”

Dean shook his head. “And that’s a bad thing how? Shit, I’m _happy_ with myself right now, for the first time. I appreciate what you’ve done for me. You know that, I’ve told you. Don’t listen to him.”

“It’s too late, Dean,” Castiel huffed. “This discussion is going to end prematurely if you don’t calm down, because I’m getting really pissed off right now.”

Dean picked up his glass of ginger ale and gulped it down. “Don’t fire him. Please, I’m begging you. I’ll take responsibility for everything he does and says. If he doesn’t behave himself during this tour, you can have my entire salary and whatever percentage I earn.”

“I don’t want or need your salary. This isn’t about money.”

“It’s _always_ been about money! That’s why you hired us in the first place, remember? Because we’d sell more tickets! That's the whole reason you made me your little charity case. So don’t give me that bullshit. This is also about you getting your feelings hurt because my brother and I care more about each other than we do about this tour. Period.”

“We’re done here,” Castiel said angrily as he shoved back his chair and stood up. “I will see you on Friday morning for rehearsal. Stay out of my sight until then. I mean it. Your brother is going home today, or tomorrow, depending on flight availability.”

“I’m going with him, then,” Dean declared decisively.

“Fine. I’m calling your bluff. Do it. Bobby, get his alternate on a plane ASAP. Guess we don’t have to worry about that new violin anymore. Goodbye, Dean. See you in court.”

Dean stood up, swaying on his feet a little as Castiel turned and disappeared into his bedroom. All the anger suddenly left Dean, to be replaced by a sickening fear and disbelief, and all he could do was stare at Bobby in stunned silence.

“You bloody idjit!” Bobby exclaimed hotly.


	103. Chapter 103

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place immediately after Castiel fired Dean, but before he fires Sam.

“You’re not going to believe this!” Sam exclaimed giddily as Dean let himself back into their hotel room and collapsed onto the gaudy armchair.

“Yeah?” he breathed shakily, “Seems to be a theme today.”

Sam held up his phone and showed Dean a photo. “The police just called. I literally just hung up with them. Some dumbass tried to sell your violin at a pawn shop down the street from the freakin’ police station and got caught. What an idiot!””

Dean sat up straight, his heart racing. “Oh my god. Is it damaged?”

“Nope. See? Everything’s going to be fine, I told you. I knew it. You mind if I tell Cas myself when I meet with him in five minutes? Maybe starting off with some good news will help him forgive me faster. Hell, I might even get off scot-free.”

“I don’t think so, Sam.”

Sam cocked his head a little as he sat down on the bed across from his brother. He looked vaguely disappointed at Dean’s lack of enthusiasm. “Well it wouldn’t hurt. You want to tell him yourself, then? Just do it before I go over there.”

Dean leaned back in his chair again and threw an arm over his eyes. “Sam....”

“What? You just left him, right? Did he-”

They both stood up and looked at each other as someone knocked on the door.

“It’s Chuck,” said the voice as he knocked again. “Sam?”

Sam trudged over and opened the door reluctantly; he was less of a fan of the man than Dean was, which said a lot. “Hey. Come in.”

Chuck didn’t move to accept the invitation. “I came over to tell you that your meeting is off. Congratulations, Dean, Cas says you get to tell your brother what just happened.”

Dean jumped a little. “Um. Chuck? Can I talk to him first, please? We have news about the violin.”

Chuck shook his head. “Tell me, and I’ll tell him.”

“I want to tell him directly,” Dean persisted.

“Shouldn’t have fucked up your relationship with him, then. He’s not interested in hearing another word from you in this lifetime.”

Sam turned to his brother and crossed his arms, his face going a little red. “What the _hell_ is going on, Dean?”

Dean ignored him. “Thanks, Chuck. Heard you loud and clear.” Then he reached over and pushed the door shut.

“Dean!” Sam exclaimed in stunned surprise. “You just slammed the door in his face. What the fuck?”

“I need a fucking drink before I tell you. I’m serious. What’s in the minibar?”

Sam froze where he was standing next to the little black fridge. “Um...nothing alcoholic. I…”

“You had it removed, didn’t you?”

“Not me. Castiel told Chuck to tell the hotel to...okay, wait. Back up. What just happened?”

“Had a little disagreement with Cas.” Dean was on the verge of vomiting. “I was about to tell you before we got interrupted.”

“Tell him about the violin,” Sam instructed decisively after he had at least partially digested that unsettling news. “That will help cheer him up.”

Dean walked over to the nightstand and picked up his phone. “I’ll have to text him.”

There was already a text from Castiel on the phone, and sent only a few moments ago, Dean noted with surprise:

_-The violin has been safely recovered. Bobby is on the way to retrieve it. You two need to pack and prepare to leave the hotel by 3pm. Chuck is arranging everything and will be in touch._

Dean’s heart fell from his chest down to somewhere into the basement of the hotel. “Sorry, Sam. He already knows. And…”

“Oh. Maybe that’s why our meeting is off. Forgiven and forgotten, I hope?”

“Hang on. I wanna reply to this.”

_-Not going anywhere until you tell Sam yourself what you’ve decided, instead of leaving it to me. Never figured you for the kind of person to take the coward’s way out_

_-That’s pretty ironic, coming from you_

“Oh, fuck,” Dean muttered to himself, feeling thoroughly embarrassed by that accurate yet excruciatingly painful burn.

“What?”

“Nothing. Hang on.” Dean flipped back to his messages home screen and started a new thread.

 _-_ _Michael, can you please call me ASAP? Emergency_

Dean set his phone on his knee and forced himself to keep his tone calm. “Sorry, I’m sure everything will be fine. You know how I get when Cas is mad at me. Just…I need to take some time. Can I ask you a favor?”

“Yeah.”

Dean pulled out his wallet. “I know you were just at Starbucks, but can you go get me something? I’m gonna call my therapist.”

Sam nodded, his expression softening. “Gotcha. How long do you want me to be gone?”

“Um. Like...half an hour? I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just do what you gotta do to be well. I’ll come back in like an hour, okay?”

“Cool. If you see Cas, don’t bother him, okay? He’s in a mood.”

Sam nodded. “Gotcha. There’s a Barnes & Noble a block away. I’ll go there. Wanted to grab a few travel books anyway for the tour. Call me if you need me back sooner. For any reason. Okay?”

Dean felt his heart both breaking and warming rapidly to his newly-supportive and understanding little brother. It truly was amazing how much he’d changed over the past couple of weeks.

“Thanks. See ya later.”

\--------

“...so we’re supposed to be packed and ready to leave at 3. That’s where we stand now.”

There was silence on the other end of the line, and Dean took a moment to wipe his eyes and take a drink of water. He hated how his voice kept catching and how he had to hitch his breath a couple times during his explanation, but fuck...asking for help like this was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do in his life. Second hardest, actually, after burying his mother.

“So you haven’t told Sam anything,” Michael responded after almost a minute of silence.

“No, I...he’s so excited about the tour. Michael, I can’t even express how fucking guilty I feel right now. This would have never happened if I hadn’t left my violin in the car. That started everything. I mean, I wouldn’t even be mad if Sam got to go and I didn’t.”

“Hmm. I think it would have happened. Cas and Sam haven’t been getting along for a while.”

Dean nodded, although the lawyer couldn’t see him. “I just...do we have any recourse at all?”

“Yeah, you do,” Michael responded, and Dean was surprised.

“We do? What?”

“I need to talk to Cas about how he just violated a huge clause in your contracts. I’ll have to tell him you called me. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Dean replied miserably. His hands were shaking so hard he could hardly hold the phone. 

“Okay. Let me think and-”

“What’s the clause? Sorry for interrupting.”

Michael cleared his throat. “He skipped right over the process where a mediator steps in first before any separation agreement is reached. For that you could potentially sue the bejeezus out of him for wrongful termination. Not that I’m surprised a bit. He’s never been good with following his own legal processes for terminating someone.”

“Wait, so...this has happened before?” Dean asked with intense curiosity. “He’s fired his musicians while on tour before?”

Michael chuckled just a little...barely. “Oh god, yes. Earned himself quite a reputation for it. Fired Gabriel unlawfully, too. Twice. You didn’t know?”

Dean gulped. “I knew about Gabriel.”

“Hmm. Yeah, I don’t think Cas has done a single tour yet where any principal musican actually survived to the end. Why do you think you both have two alternates?”

_Oh, fuck…._

“So I’m completely fucked, basically, is what you’re saying. Even with a mediator.”

“Look, Dean, I don’t want to get your hopes up. So yeah, I’m gonna say you’re screwed. Let’s just go with that right now. That way if something happens to change the situation for the better, you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

Dean felt like crying again. “Thank you for your help. I...don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m really surprised you’re being so nice to me about this. Pleasantly surprised. And grateful.”

“It’s sympathy, basically. I toured with him once, too. The best and worst five months of my life. But you know what? He’s not a bad person.”

“I know that,” Dean replied firmly. “That’s why I’m so upset. He...he cares more about me than anyone ever has. More than my dad. Than my own brother. I mean, I’d still be in jail if not for him.”

There was another long pause as Michael though some more. “Wait...I almost forgot about your terms on probation.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Dean mumbled. “I’ll go to jail if I’m unemployed for more than fourteen days. That’s where I belong, anyway, so maybe this is for the best. Maybe I shouldn’t fight this at all and just take the rest of my sentence so I don’t disappoint anyone else. Cas is doing the world a favor with this one, I guess.”

There was a pause so long that Dean thought he lost the call.

“Hello?”

“Yeah,” Michael replied with a cough. “Sorry, I’m here. Is Sam with you?”

“Not at this second. I told you he doesn’t know about any of this. He’s out at the bookstore buying travel books and thinking we’re going to be off to London in a few days.”

“Okay. I’m going to call Cas. Then I’ll call you back. You gonna be okay until then?”

No. “Yeah.”

“I mean, like...r _eally_ okay? I’m seriously worried about you right now.”

He was, too; Dean could hear a slight frantic quality in his voice.

“Don’t worry, Chuck had the alcohol in our room taken out before we got here,” he joked heavily.

“I don’t mean that. Call your therapist, okay? I’m serious.”

“Sure, I’ll do it now,” Dean lied. “But I’m fine.”

“Okay. I’ll call you back soon. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’m sorry, have you met me? I can’t take a shit without doing something stupid.”

Michael huffed a little. “That’s not funny, Dean. Stay put. Talk soon.”

\-------------

Dean took the opportunity to take a luxurious bath in the jetted tub of the suite, but the water and the bath salts wasn’t what ended up soothing him. The thought of being back in jail did the trick. Knowing his place, his only job being following orders, not having to make any decisions...it all sounded ideal right about now. He didn’t even mind the food; they had pie twice a week.

And Sam. Sam could visit him every weekend for two hours. There wouldn’t be time to fight. There wouldn’t be a suffocating feeling of being too close, too often, with someone who knew him too well and could read his thoughts. With strangers, though, he could be anyone he wanted and not feel half as judged as he did with his own brother.

As for the loss of freedom? Well, he’d shown the world several times over that he didn’t deserve it. So that was that.

Just as he was toweling off, he heard Sam return to the room.

“Dean?”

“Be out in a minute,” he yelled through the door. Fuck, but he felt calm all of a sudden. Felt good. Really good.

“Good. We need to talk.”

Dean hated that phrase. It never failed to make him panic a little.

“Gimme a minute.”

\----------

“Michael called you? Why?”

Sam didn’t look happy, and Dean was afraid for a moment that his call for help had backfired terribly. That Michael had told everything to Sam and stabbed in him the back. Perhaps even mocking him for being so afraid, so directionless, so naive. It didn’t bear thinking about.

“I didn’t see his call for like half an hour,” Sam began. “He left a message saying to come back and check on you. So...you gonna tell me what’s going on, or not? I’m not stupid, Dean. You slammed the door in Chuck’s face, and he didn’t even protest. Don’t think I haven’t figured out that some serious shit went down between you and Cas.”

Dean rubbed his hair with his towel again, then reached into the fridge to grab a soda.

“I told you we had a disagreement. What else do you want to know?”

“I want to know why Michael thought you were about to throw yourself off our balcony.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “He’s such a drama queen. I’m fine.”

“So why’d you call him?”

“Because I did.”

Sam shrugged. “Fine. So why is Bobby not talking to me? I saw him in the lobby and he all but ran the other direction. Stop bullshitting me. I’m not a kid. I don’t need your protection. Whatever you tell me, I can handle.”

Dean looked over at the side table that was holding the books Sam bought, which were stacked up on top of each other.

_101 Things to Do in London_

_Highlights of Historical Lisbon_

_Barcelona in 2-7 Days_

And so on.

“Went a little crazy with the reading materials there, Sammy. Do you even have room for them? Maybe you should have just gotten a Kindle.”

Dean heard his phone whistle with the notification of a text message, and his heart lurched as he forced himself to slowly walk over to look at it, rather than sprint. Another message from Castiel.

 _-_ _Come to my room ASAP. 2110._

 Dean felt like writing back “you’re not the boss of me anymore,” but he refrained and simply typed back that he’d just gotten out of the shower and needed a few minutes.

“Hey Sam, um...I’ll tell you what happened between me and Cas after I meet with him, okay? He just called me up to his room.”

“Ohhhh...did you two have a lover’s quarrel? Is that why you won’t tell me what this is about?”

“Shut up, bitch,” Dean grinned.

“Jerk.”

\-----------------------

Dean couldn’t knock on Castiel’s door. He just couldn’t. He stood there like an idiot, debating which would be a faster exit to take - the emergency stairs, or the elevators. His hands tingled a little from anxiety, and he was sweating worse than that time he’d run a half-marathon with the other teachers at his school.

He had no idea what Castiel was going to say. None. Couldn’t even fathom how angry the man must be right now, how disappointed, how indignant that his protege had treated his benefactor so poorly. 

He wanted to just go to the airport and never look back, but the shade that Cas had thrown him earlier about being a coward held him in place. He wasn’t a coward.

Okay, maybe he was, but he wouldn’t be anymore.

Then the elevator opened down the hall, and Dean found himself trapped. It was Bobby, heading straight towards him. 

“What are you doing here?” the gruff man asked.

Dean stepped away from the door and lowered his voice. “Castiel called me up here. You too?”

“Nope. My room’s next door. Going to take a nap. What in the holy hell got into you earlier, boy? You are a world-class-”

“I know, I know! You don’t have to tell me, I know it full well.”

“You scared to knock on that door?”

“Yeah,” Dean admitted. “I don’t know what he’s gonna do.”

Bobby breezed past him and rapped his knuckles on the door, loudly. Dean cringed into himself.

“Seriously, Bobby? What the hell.”

“Good luck,” Bobby said over his shoulder as he disappeared into his own room, leaving Dean alone in the hallway. A few moments later the door popped out, and Dean found himself face to face with his...nemesis? Was that the right word?

“I didn’t knock like that,” he blurted anxiously. “Bobby did, I’m sorry. I would have been quieter.”

Castiel didn’t say a word, he just gestured to the living room area. _Oh boy,_ thought Dean. _The couch now instead of the table…_

They sat directly across from each other, about six feet apart. Dean forced himself to look into Castiel’s eyes, although his entire body was trying to flee through the door. The man stared at him for a good minute, his head cocked slightly to the side. 

“I was willing to let you return to the center and teach again until you found a permanent placement elsewhere. At least, until I got back from the tour.”

Dean swallowed hard, then felt his skin prickle vibrantly at the surge of emotion.

“That’s too kind. Far more than I deserve. But...what do you mean _was_ willing? Did you change your mind?”

“You called Michael for legal advice.”

Dean could only nod.

“Are you planning to sue me, Dean?”

“No,” Dean responded hoarsely, then he cleared his voice a few times. “Of course not. When I get home I won’t have a job, and that means I’ll go to jail. I wanted to ask him about how much leeway I could get, under the circumstances. I also asked him how much I would be liable for financially when you take me to court.”

“So you weren’t trying to fight my decision.”

Dean looked at the floor. He felt like he was floating suddenly, perhaps on a river of lava.

“No. You were right. I respect you too much to even ask for your forgiveness at this point.”

“Good. because you won’t get it. Look at me.” 

Dean met his eyes, but he couldn’t breathe. Castiel’s tone was harsh. Foreign. Like he was scolding one of his own poorly-behaved children (that he didn’t have, or maybe he did; Dean didn’t know).

“I’m going to give it to you straight, Mr. Winchester. I’ve been disappointed in life plenty of times before. I’ve fired my own brothers, I’ve closed down shows that didn’t make money, I’ve canceled programs that flopped, and I’ve gotten horrible reviews from my own students and staff. So I’m no stranger to being let down on an epic scale. Devastated, at times. Do you understand that?”

 _Mr. Winchester_. Dean nodded; he knew exactly what was coming next and his stomach flip-flopped at least a dozen times in preparation.

“But I have never, _ever,_ been so disappointed in anyone or anything as I was with you yesterday. I don’t think I need to explain why.”

Yep, that’s what he expected. Dean wiped his eyes and nodded again. And it hurt far worse than he was poorly-prepared for. Castiel’s tone was like ice. No, colder than ice. Black-hole universe levels of coldness. Dean’s chest felt like it was bound up in an old-fashioned women’s corset suddenly.

“It took everything my executives could throw at me to convince me to meet with you. I would have been content never even hearing your name again. Or Sam’s for that matter, although I expected this kind of behavior from him at some point. But not from you. Not after everything we’ve been through. How _dare_ you accuse me of making you a charity case for my own benefit.”

_Ouch._

“I’m sorry, sir,” Dean said, but it came out in a whisper so faint that Castiel didn’t even hear it. 

“I actually cared about your welfare. I told you I identify with you, and that I was scared for you. That I would help you even if you weren’t my employee, because you got dealt a rotten hand in life that nobody deserves. Even my brothers felt the same and helped you at every opportunity, on their own time and sometimes at their own cost. The abuse I got, and the clients I lost, after your stints in jail. After your social media disaster. Did I ever make you feel bad about that? No. So I’m at a loss to describe how your words yesterday made me feel.”

Dean was too miserable to move even a millimeter. He just wanted to die.

Castiel sighed and leaned back into his chair. “Moving on to the subject at hand. I violated my end of our agreement by firing you on tour without bringing in a mediator first, for which I need to apologize.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dean said calmly as he reached for a Kleenex. “I wouldn’t have asked for one.”

“You wouldn’t have had to ask, it would have been automatic. There’s a $75,000 fine for violating your behavioral guidelines and forcing me to cancel the contract. I assume you’re aware of that clause.”

Dean nodded. “Sam too?”

“We’re not talking about Sam right now.”

“Well, I need to know. Because I’m going to pay for his fine, too. This is my fault.”

Castiel shook his head. “You did what you did, and he did what he did. They’re not interchangeable.”

“He’s my brother. I’m responsible for him. Just tell him you won’t fine him, and make me pay it. Double mine, I don’t care.”

“I can’t do that, and I won’t do that. You don’t have the funds for it.”

Dean took in a sharp breath. “That’s none of your business, sir, with respect.”

“I wouldn’t care if you were a billionaire, Dean. I would never do that. You two are so different. It puzzles me. I can always count on you to take the blame you deserve, so I won’t ask you to tell me that you understand why I’ve given up on you. I know you do, and I know you’ll learn something from this. But Sam’s going to fight me on this and learn nothing, and be the petulant child he always has been.”

_He gave up on me. Less than a day ago, he was proud of me. Fuck...stop crying, you big baby._

“Dean?” Castiel prompted after a minute of watching Dean start to lose it.

“Yeah?” Dean sniffled.

“Pull it together. I’m not firing you or Sam.”

Dean froze. “I... _what_?”

“Your call to Michael saved you both, although you say it wasn’t your intent.”

“It wasn’t,” Dean insisted in wonder and confusion. “What happened?”

“Michael called Gabriel, and the two of them together called me and announced they were vetoing my decision.”

Dean couldn’t breathe suddenly, and his chest got tighter. “I don’t understand why you agreed to it. I’m ready to get on that plane.

“I didn’t agree to it. It was two against one. We’re equal partners in the organization and each of us has one vote on critical decisions like this. I’ve never actually been vetoed before. It’s never even come up or been discussed, to my knowledge.”

“Um.” Dean swallowed a few times, but couldn’t form any words. He couldn’t believe his ears, and felt like he was in a waking dream.

“I respect their decision, and I won’t hold it against them. We agreed to have that balance of power, and that’s the end of that. I’m still fining you both though, at a rate of ten percent of your guaranteed salary. And you will each get six strokes of the cane once I’m not furious anymore. Might be a while.”

“No.” Dean shook his head. “Not Sam. I’ll take his. You’re not touching him.”

“Excuse me? This isn’t negotiable.”

“I’m not negotiating. I’m _telling_ you, you’re not caning him. Ever again. You can fine him all you want, but you’re not touching him and that’s final. He’s my responsibility. Everything he does and says is on me from now on.”

Castiel looked at Dean sideways. “You’re awfully full of yourself suddenly.”

Dean shrugged. “I’m literally willing to give up everything and let you sue me into oblivion to protect Sam. So…”

“Why? He’s done nothing but antagonize you and cause you trouble since the day I met him.”

“You’re not wrong, but he’s gotten better lately. He’s been trying.”

“Brothers will be brothers,” Castiel answered philosophically. “So be it. I’m perfectly fine never speaking to him again. You better keep him under tight control, or you’re going to be in a world of hurt for the next seven months. You sure you want this? I was planning to make Bobby his boss.”

“No, it will be me. He’ll be fine. I’ll tell him you and I are good, and that everything’s ironed out between us. If he finds out you’re going to cane me, he’s going to lose his shit again. So you gotta keep that on the down low.”

“Tell him what you want and I’ll back you up. Be prepared, though. I’m going to be ruling you with an iron fist from now on. I mean it. I don’t want to, but I have no choice. Every time you disobey me, or disrespect me, or embarrass me, I’m going to call you out. Even the slightest attitude or argument you give me is going to be addressed promptly.”

“You won’t have anything to address. I promise. I’m shooting straight from here on out.”

“Glad to hear it,” Castiel huffed. “You know how much money I have invested in this tour. In both of you. I’m not messing around. Every misstep, every-”

“Yeah, I get it,” Dean snapped angrily. “You’ve told me a hundred times.”

Castiel took a deep breath. “I’m going to let that pass, but it’s the last time. You will address me as sir or Mr. Novak from here on out. Not Cas, not Castiel. And you’ll never interrupt me again. Are we clear?”

Dean nodded, a lump in his throat suddenly making it hard to breathe. “Yes, sir. I just have one request.”

Castiel nodded. “Go ahead.”

“I don’t care how much you hate me, just act like we’re friends around everyone. For Sam’s benefit. And Bobby’s, and Chuck’s. Please. I promise to do the same. We’ll never get through this tour otherwise, if there’s open conflict between us.”

“Agreed.”

Dean felt tears welling up again. “Less than a day ago you said you were proud of me. I knew the moment you said it that I’d let you down within the week. I’m sorry.”

_Say you’re still proud of me._

_That I’m not a hopeless case._

_That I’m capable of redemption._

_That you don’t hate me._

_That you didn’t expect me to let you down again._

_That you know I’ll redeem myself somehow._

“I don’t expect it to be the last time you disappoint me, despite your assurances. You’re dismissed.”

Dean left the hotel room feeling like his head weighed a million pounds, and leaned against the wall in the hallway to catch his breath and stop himself from dry heaving.

Then he ducked into the little computer room at the end of the hall and dialed his therapist.

\--------------------------------------------

“Hey, that was a long meeting. Jesus.”

Dean hung his jacket in the closet as he talked. “Yeah. Cas and I smoothed it out, believe it or not. We’re good. So are you guys. He came around after we got the violin back, and-”

“Did he cane you?” Sam demanded.

“What? No!”

“He better not fucking cane you for that. I swear to god, I’ll wring his neck.”

“Don’t say shit like that, Sam! He’s my boss.”

Sam shrugged. “Don’t care.”

Dean sat down heavily on the bench by the little kitchen. “Listen, Sam…um, I’m your boss now. Like, your actual boss. Not just your rehearsal bitch who has to make sure you get your butt in your seat and get tuned on time. I mean, like full-on responsibility for you and everything you do.”

“What? Why?”

“Cas just has a lot of other things on his mind, and...okay, fine, he’s still a little pissed about your fight. But he promised me you won’t be caned again. Ever. That doesn’t mean you can do stupid shit without consequences though. By the way, he’s docking us ten percent for yesterday. So there’s that.”

“Fucking tyrant,” Sam muttered.

“Take it easy,” Dean warned. “Otherwise we’re going to owe him money when we get home. Okay?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Sorry. So we’re good now?”

Dean nodded and forced a smile. “Never been better.”


	104. Chapter 104

Dean struggled hard to sleep that night. He laid on his side, unmoving, eyes wide open and barely blinking, watching his brother’s steady breaths rise and fall from across the room. 

Michael hadn’t replied to the texts Dean sent to thank the brothers for their intervention. Gabriel, of course, wouldn’t have missed a snarky reply for all the money in the world, and his response was still running through Dean’s brain on an endless loop:

_It was a strategic marketing decision. Don’t get too full of yourself. We still think it was a mistake that he hired you two in the first place._

Because of course it was. Dean had fitfully written back to ask why they hadn’t vetoed Cas back in the early days if they felt that way. Gabriel started to answer, Dean knew, because he could see the three little dots that showed he was typing. Then it stopped. Dean had waited an hour in vain for an answer, then typed “???” out of frustration and anxiety.

Nothing.

That was 12 hours ago, but the emotions Dean felt at that exchange were still fresh in his heart. He hadn’t told Sam, of course; he’d just disappeared into the bathroom and stood there glaring at himself in the mirror for an hour. 

The dinner with potential investors had been surprisingly pleasant, however; Castiel had been very talkative and gregarious with everyone at the table, including Sam and Dean. But it was clear to Dean, at least, that it put a strain on him to act like everything was normal, and each time he caught the eye of either brother, Castiel’s energy seemed to sap just a little bit until dark circles formed under his eyes at dessert. Dean had excused himself afterwards and went into the gift shop to avoid riding in the elevator with Cas - Mr. Novak, he reminded himself - and made sure to drag a tipsy Sam with him.

_“You did good, bro,” Sam said, far too loudly, as Dean feigned interest in the rows of cheap Chinese snowglobes of the White House._

_“Shh. Thank you.”_

_“He likes us again, I think. Fuck, that steak was good. Expensive. Cas is loaded, you know that?”_

_“Shut up, Sam,” Dean hissed. “Come on, let’s go upstairs. You need a shower.”_

_“Oh, come on. The night’s young. Don’t be such a pussy.”_

_Dean had halted in his tracks and turned his head to glare at his brother. “That’s it. Upstairs. Now. Don’t even think of fighting me on this.”_

_Sam had laughed at that. “Awww. What are you gonna do if I say no, boss? Gonna take off your belt and use it on me?”_

_He stopped laughing, though, when his brother clutched his arm and pulled him in close._

_“Ow.”_

_“You’re making a fool of yourself,” Dean growled. “You’re going upstairs, you’re going to take a shower, then you’re getting in bed to sleep this off. Are we clear, Sam?”_

_“Ow! Let go.”_

Dean hadn’t let go. He’d dragged his brother as discreetly as he could back to the elevator bank and forced him in, then relaxed his grip as Sam relaxed and agreed to cooperate. Sam had flopped down on the bed in his clothes and fell asleep a few minutes later. Since then, he hadn’t moved except to throw his arm over his face during an apparent dream.

At 3am, Dean finally gave up and went out into the suite’s living area to watch TV. Nothing was on, of course, and as he flipped through the channels for the fourth time his eyes wandered and rested on the little black fridge in the corner. He had seen a CVS pharmacy when they drove in; it had to be less than a block away. The one near Sam’s house sold beer and liquor 24/7...perhaps this one did as well. He got up again and went to get his phone, half-hoping there would be a text from Castiel or Michael.

Nothing. Again.

In a fit of anxiety he texted Michael again before he could lose his nerve.

_-Just wanted to make sure you got my previous text. Service is a little spotty in this hotel._

_-I did. What are you doing up at this hour?_

Dean almost  dropped his phone in surprise at the nearly instantaneous response; Michael must have been holding his phone in his hand.

_-Can’t sleep. Been a day. I know your veto was just a marketing decision so I guess that’s why you don’t care that I’m grateful. But I am._

_-“Marketing decision?” Did Cas tell you that?_

_-Gabriel_

_-Figures. It was more than that. Wish I could say this will blow over quickly, but it’s Cas. We all know he’ll drag it out for eternity._

Dean sighed and breathed out shakily.

_-Was he mad at you for vetoing him?_

_-What do you think? Go to bed_

_-Okay, sorry. Goodnight_

Dean flipped back to his last conversation with Castiel.

- _I’m so sorry, Mr. Novak. I won’t let you down again. Can we talk tomorrow?_

Castiel always had his phone set to send “read receipts,” and Dean was mortified to see the little icon instantly change from _delivered_ to _read._ So Cas was awake, too. Interesting.

4am came, and then 5am. No answer from Castiel. Dean finally gave up hope and fell asleep just after 5, and didn’t see the curt “ _No_ ” response that came at 5:25am. He dreamed about his mom and little baby Sammy for two hours, then woke up to his brother hovering over him with an iced coffee and a muffin.

\--------

**9am**

“Shit, this is amazing,” Sam said quietly out of the side of his mouth to Dean as they walked into the “Hall of Nations” at the Kennedy Center. The colorful flags encircling the room gave it an overly cheerful tenor that Dean just couldn’t swallow at the moment, so he only nodded and then dropped his eyes to the red carpet again.

“You okay?” Sam asked after a few moments.

“Gentlemen,” Castiel snapped. “Pay attention.”

The brothers returned their attention immediately to the Kennedy Center representative who was giving a tour so in-depth that even the history nerd inside Sam was slightly bored after an hour.

“Sorry, go ahead,” Castiel said politely to the guide, and Dean flushed slightly. He hated being apologized for, it was one of his biggest pet peeves and it took effort to swallow down his sudden resentment.

The tour finally finished 30 minutes later, and the men went back to the concert hall and walked on stage. Sometime during the tour, they had been set up for rehearsal, but Sam’s cello was where Dean sat, and vice versa. Sam bent down to move it over, but Castiel told him to leave it there. 

“Oh,” Sam said in response. “I don’t understand, sorry.”

“We’re going to swap places for this rehearsal and see how it works. Let’s get started.”

Dean slid his violin case off his shoulder and sat down, trying hard not to be perturbed that he was now facing Castiel directly instead of out towards the audience.

“This is weird,” Sam said.

“Silence.”

“Sorry, sir.”

Dean looked over to where Bobby and Chuck were seating themselves about ten rows back, and nodded. Neither one of them made any response, which was exactly what Dean expected. He lifted his violin to his chin with a sigh and tuned, while trying to ignore the fact that Castiel was staring intensely at him the entire time.

\-------

“Worst rehearsal we’ve had in weeks,” Castiel said at the break as he closed the lid to the piano. “You do realize we’re opening this tour tomorrow night, correct?”

Dean nodded. “I didn’t think it was bad, actually.”

“And I didn’t ask for your opinion,” Castiel replied calmly. “You’re distracted. Tired. It shows. I want to talk to you alone. Sam, you can go to lunch. See you back here in an hour.”

Dean felt glued to his chair suddenly; “alone” didn’t exactly mean “alone” while Bobby and Chuck were fifty feet away and most likely able to hear every word. He was immensely relieved when Cas nodded in the direction of the backstage hallway and left the stage. Dean followed with violin in hand; there was no way in hell he was ever setting the thing down again after what happened in the towncar. He’d even slept with it in his bed last night, with a protective arm thrown around the case and his hand entangled in the strap.

Castiel led him into the green room and shut the door behind them, but didn’t sit down, so Dean stayed on his feet as well.

“Dean,” he began, “I need you to focus. Your mind was all over the place. I’ve said it a thousand times before, the rehearsal room - or concert hall, or whatever - is just that. A rehearsal room. You shouldn’t be thinking about anything else, I don’t care what.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ve got a million things on my mind as well, but if I’m not setting them aside and making room for my piano inside my head, it’s going to show.”

“It did show, sir,” Dean dared to say, although very politely. “You were glaring at me the entire time. That’s why I couldn’t concentrate.”

Castiel was caught off guard by that, but he recovered quickly. “I was glaring because you made a lot of mistakes. Simple ones that you haven’t made for months. We can’t have that tomorrow night. I’m keeping track of them all, and I expect you to rehearse them out in the next 24 hours until you’re blue in the face. Our opening concert must be perfect, and don’t go and tell me you’re _not perfect and you’re only human._ The way you’ve been playing for the last six weeks or so is close enough to perfect, and that’s exactly what I want to hear tomorrow. There’s no excuse for sliding backwards like you’ve done this morning.”

Dean nodded, feeling slightly defeated while also proud of being called _close enough to perfect_. “Sorry. You made me nervous.”

“Because I was looking at you? There will be almost 2,500 people looking at you tomorrow night, and I promise you, they’re going to be listening to every note as well. We’ve been over this before, you know the pressure you’re going to be under to perform. If you can’t handle me watching you, how are you going to handle them?”

“Can’t I just sit where I was before?”

“No. We’re keeping it this way so I can keep an eye on you. I never have to worry about Sam paying attention. Go to lunch. I expect you to get it together in time for our afternoon rehearsal.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dean walked back onto the stage and out the opposite side door to the foyer. Oddly enough, he wasn’t upset at being chastised this way. His playing had been poor, his concentration even worse. He’d deserved the lecture, as much as he hated it, and he was going to take it to heart and be better in an hour. But...he also resented Castiel thoroughly for making him trade places with Sam. Change had always made him nervous, and this was no exception.

He kept walking past the buffet of hot food set out for the musicians and crew, past Sam where he was sitting at a table with the sound guys, and strode out onto the enormous terrace to gaze over the Potomac river. It was a beautiful fall day, and boats were traipsing up and down the expanse of water. He spied a canoe that a man was paddling, with his dog in his lap in a little doggie life jacket. They didn’t seem to have a care in the world. The man looked up as he glided by and waved to Dean, who couldn’t help but crack a smile and wave back. 

Dean watched them disappear underneath a huge stone bridge as they were carried idly past a wooded island in the middle of the river, and was suddenly overwhelmed with a keen sense of longing. He would give anything in the world right now to trade places with that man and let him tour the world seeking fortune and fame in his place, all expenses paid. Literally anything to just be sitting in a canoe with nothing to think about except for how not to tip over.

It was at that very moment that Dean knew with certainty he would not find happiness or fulfillment in the next seven months. But he was philosophical about it rather than sad, because Sam was already happy, and that was enough to justify his melancholy.

He took a deep breath and went back inside, then filled up a plate and sat with Sam. He didn’t actually eat anything, though, and pushed the food around so it would look like he had a full meal.

\------------

**4:37pm**

“Can we talk about yesterday, please?” Dean asked very quietly as he followed his boss out of the concert hall. Sam had left half an hour earlier in order to pick up a prescription at CVS, having accidentally left his migraine medicine back in Los Angeles, so the last part of the rehearsal was just Dean and Castiel alone. Thankfully, it had gone very smoothly and Dean was getting used to being watched like a hawk.

But Castiel stopped in his tracks in the doorway at the question, which caused Dean to run smack into the back of him.

“Fuck...I mean. Oops. Sorry.”

“My fault.” Castiel waved away the collision. “No, Dean. We can’t talk. Stop asking me. I need to go get ready for the gala, and so do you. We have multiple interviews tonight. Are you prepared?”

“Yes, sir. I’ve read all the questions and went over the points I have to hit when I answer. Just like you instructed. I’m going to be perfect, and so is Sam. We’ve been practicing every day for weeks.”

“Good. Then I will see you at 6:30pm exactly. Go straight back to the hotel now and try to get some rest. Your car is outside. Don’t be late.”

“Oh...I’m not riding with you?”

“No.”

Castiel walked off, and Dean let out the breath he had been holding and trudged outside. Castiel got into the car in front of his, and Dean waited a minute until it had pulled off.

“Are you here for Dean?” he asked the driver, as always. The man looked at his clipboard.

“Dean Winchester.”

“That’s me.” Dean got into the car, then pulled out his phone. There were four texts from Sam, each one a little more frantic than the last. 

_-Hey._

_-I can’t believe this but I have to go across town to get the midrin_

_-Waiting for a cab. Taking forever. You guys done yet?_

_-My phone’s like on 1%_

That was 10 minutes ago. There was nothing else after that. Dean quickly dialed his brother, who picked up right away.

“Sam? Where are you?”

“Hey. You’re not going to believe this. They sent my prescription to the wrong CVS. I’m in the worst fucking neighborhood I’ve ever seen in my life, and my cab left me. I’m charging my phone with a cashier so I don’t die on the way back.”

Dean laughed. “Oh shit, Sam. I swear, the crap you get into. I’ll have my driver come get you.”

“Oh hell, no. You are _not_ pulling up to this ghetto in a Rolls, Dean. Forget it.”

“I wish. Castiel got the Rolls. I got demoted to a Prius. Text me your address.”

“Hang on.”

Dean heard a ding of a text and looked at his phone to confirm he had gotten what he needed. 

“Okay, sit tight. I’m gonna come get you. Looks like you’re not far from here. Bye.”

Dean showed his driver the address, and the man shook his head and made a low whistle. “I don’t know, bro. You may be on your own for this one.”

“That bad, huh?”

“The worst.”

“I’m sorry. He’s my brother. I’ll give you $100.”

The driver considered that, then flicked his turn signal from left to right. “Fine. Just duck down when the shooting starts.”

“Oh god. Okay.”

Dean briefly considered texting Castiel to let him know what was going on, or Chuck, but changed his mind. They didn’t need to know. Dean was already showered and looked good, all he needed to do was throw on his tux and go. He called Sam back once the car got on the highway.

“Hey. I think we’ll get back to the hotel with like an hour to spare. You gonna be ready?”

“I’m always ready. Thanks, Dean. They’re gonna have my prescription in less than ten minutes. See you soon.”

“See ya.”

\-------------

“This is taking a long time,” Dean observed worriedly.

“Washington DC at rush hour,” the driver said. “You’re from L.A., right? This part of the city makes California look all but vacant. Probably a motorcade blocking all the intersections. We’ll get there at six, don’t worry. Google maps is always right on.”

“Thanks.” Dean glanced at Sam. “Cas hasn’t texted you, has he? Shit, this is taking forever. I had no idea.”

“No. Nobody’s texted me.”

They fell silent, and Dean took a huge deep breath of relief when he saw only 3 minutes left on the GPS. It was 5:54.

“Thank god,” he murmured.

“Mmmhm. Hey, is it okay if I post this picture on Twitter?”

He handed his phone over, and Dean laughed at the image of himself walking around the hotel room in nothing but a very small towel. “Keep your incest porn stash to yourself, pervert.”

“Ha. Seriously, though. Here’s one from our flight. You like?”

“Yeah. Damn, I look good.”

“Shut up.”

Four minutes later, and the car hadn’t moved an inch. Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 

“Hey, umm...Carlos? Can we just get out and walk? It’s like two blocks away, right?”

“Less than that. Looks like the motorcade is passing through, so I’m not gonna be moving for a while. Walk straight down this sidewalk and take a left on Hayes street. It’s right there, front and center, you can’t miss it.”

Dean popped open the door on his side and felt his chest lighten a little. “Thank you so much. Really appreciate it. Sam, get out on this side so you don’t get hit by a bus, Sasquatch.”

“Yup.” Sam slide over, and the brothers walked down the sidewalk lightheartedly.

“Damn, I thought for sure we were going to be late.”

“Nah. We’re fine.”

“Your head okay?”

“Yeah.”

Dean clapped his brother on the back. “Good. Listen, don’t tell Cas I came to get you. He ordered me to go straight back to the hotel, so-”

“Oh shit, Dean. You should’ve never risked coming to get me! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Are you joking? You’re my brother, bitch. I got you.”

Sam smiled a little, but didn’t reply. He was too busy looking at his phone.

“Two hundred likes already. Nice.”

They turned the corner and went down a little sidewalk into the front doors of the hotel.

“This must be a different entrance than the one we came in,” Dean observed. “It’s a bigger hotel than I thought.”

“Yeah.” Sam was still looking at his phone. “This event has a hashtag already. Wow. I mean, I knew it was a huge affair, but-”

“Sam. _Sam_.”

“What?”

“Help me out here. Need to find our wing of the hotel.”

Sam finally looked up from his phone and studied the lobby. “Uh...we walked into the wrong place, I think. This is totally different decor.”

“But it says Ritz-Carlton. Right there, on the front desk.”

“Hang on.” Sam pulled up Google Maps on his phone, and waited in confusion as the little pinpoint found them. “This says...no, it’s wrong. We’re not in Virginia. Google Maps is so dumb sometimes. Hang on.”

Sam stopped a bellman that walked by and asked him which hotel this was.

“Ritz-Carlton Pentagon City,” said the man. 

“Uh. I don’t think this is the right one,” Sam said quickly. “Is there another lobby, maybe? A different wing, with a black-and-white carpet?”

“Not here. If you’re sure it’s a Ritz, then this is the wrong one. There are two in the city, and one in Tysons Corner.”

“You mean...you said Pentagon City? Wait, are we in _Virginia_?”

“Yes.”

“Oh _shit_ ,” Sam exclaimed. “Fuck. Yeah, wrong one. Can you get us a cab to the other Ritz in DC?”

“Come on outside.”

They followed him out, and Sam patted Dean on the shoulder as he watched the blood drain from his brother’s face. “It’s okay, Dean. The city is right there across the river. We can practically swim to it. We’re good.”

“Oh my god, Sam. If we’re even one minute late, he’s going to kill me.”

“Which hotel?” the bellman asked as the cab pulled up and Dean whipped out his wallet to pull out a tip.

“Which one, Dean?”

Dean looked up. “Um. Washington DC?”

The bellman laughed a little. “Tourists. Ahh. There are two of them. One on M street, one on South street.”

“Thanks,” Dean said as he all but threw the man a $20 and dragged Sam into the cab. “Which one, Sam?”

“I don’t know! I’ll check the Facebook Event page.”

“Good thinking.”

Sam found it quickly. “Okay. The one on M Street. Driver, we’re going to...oh, _holy fuck. Shit._ ”

“What??” Dean asked frantically.

“It’s 4 miles away, but this is saying it’s going to take us an hour to get there?”

The driver laughed just like the bellman had. “If we’re lucky. Welcome to Washington DC, boys.”

Dean and Sam looked at each other, the blood draining at an equal rate from both their faces.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean exclaimed.

\----------------

“...then the driver said the subway would take 17 minutes. So he dropped us off at the station, but the train we got on broke down for over 20 minutes. Neither of us had a cell signal the whole time, they said we were under the river.”

“That’s why you didn’t contact me.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam said steadily as Castiel’s glare bored holes through him. “We literally couldn’t. When I finally called you, we had just gotten out of the station that’s six blocks from here, and it was tough finding our way back because the buildings were blocking my phone’s GPS. We took a couple wrong turns.”

“And got down here at 7:30pm. An hour late.” Castiel glared at Dean now, who was writhing in anxiety and sweating profusely. “I told _you_ to go straight back to the hotel. _Straight back._ What part of that instruction was unclear in _any way whatsoever_?”

Dean couldn’t answer, and Castiel didn’t press him.

“Well, congratulations. You missed the opening ceremony introductions and your first three interviews. Nice way to kick off the tour, by embarrassing this organization to a degree I’ve never imagined before. Somehow I should have known you two were capable of setting a new low.”

Sam was still calm and reasonable somehow, which Dean admired enormously. “We’re here now, sir. And we’re ready to do this. Shall we?”

“You’re at table three with me. I expect you to behave as if nothing untoward has happened. I will do the same.”

“What if anyone asks why we’re late?”

“Tell them your towncar took you to the wrong hotel, and leave it at that. We’ll talk about this tomorrow in more depth.” He threw a significant glance at Dean, but said nothing more and turned away to go back into the ballroom.

“Get it together, Dean,” Sam ordered tersely. “You look like you’re about to have a heart attack.”

“Because I am, Sam. It’s been nice knowing you.”

“You're fine. Let’s go.”


	105. Chapter 105

Dean couldn’t eat during the Gala at first, but he was able to at least push his worries aside and make good conversation with the press and Castiel’s special guests. He was a little overwhelmed at first with the enthusiasm in which they were welcomed, and surprised not to be taken to task for arriving so late. It seemed as if nothing was wrong whatsoever, and after half an hour or so, he felt his tension starting to glide insensibly away as he relaxed and freely chatted with the guests.

Sam was enjoying himself immensely, his extraversion able to carry him to different levels of conversation than his brother. Dean was a little more nuts-and-bolts with his answers, never letting his guard down, but always being personal when he could. He envied Sam for his warmth and openness, and his ability to make people belly laugh. That was something he could personally never master, but then again, Sam couldn’t exactly master the art of listening like Dean could, either.

Dean was also surprised at Castiel for joining in a conversation from time to time, for he had been sure the man would avoid speaking to him at all costs. In fact, there were three occasions when Castiel had sought him out and then taken him somewhere to introduce him to people and said nice things before stepping away again. If Dean didn’t know better, he would think he was forgiven or that he had just dreamed the entire cluster fuck with Sam.

The only glitch all night was when Dean was asked a highly invasive question about his admittedly curious background during an informal Q&A with a local high school paper. He dodged it smoothly, but the student reporter came back to it, and he didn’t feel he could dodge it again. 

“We all make mistakes,” he’d finally said. “I’m trying to make good and not dwell on the past.”

The girl pushed him, though. Hard. “There are a lot of people who say someone with three DUIs hardly deserves an all-expenses paid trip around the world and probably a huge salary, too. What makes you different from someone who has earned their place on-”

Dean had simply walked away, rather than go off on her. That was thanks to his anger management training, not to mention the many hours with his therapist. He silently thanked Bela and Castiel, then went onto the next person and tried to forget about it. _Tried_ being the operative word. He sought out Castiel a few minutes later and quietly asked him if he could leave now that his scheduled interviews were finished.

“Something wrong?” his boss asked in true concern, without a trace of irritation.

“Um.”

Castiel met his eyes searchingly. “ _Dean_.”

Dean felt Sam’s eyes on him from across the room. “Sir, I just need to go, if that’s okay. I’m tired.”

“Give me the ten-second version of what just happened, and then I’ll consider it.”

Dean took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a few seconds. “Who let a high school girl in here as an alleged reporter?”

“Ah. Understood. Where is she?”

Dean glanced over to her, then back to his boss. “Yellow dress.”

“I’ll throw her out.”

“What? Wait. She’s just a kid.”

Castiel was already walking over to the girl though, and Dean was following like a little dog on his heels. “Castiel. Mr. Novak. Sir. _Stop._ Oh my god!”

“Miss?”

The girl turned around and looked up at Castiel with huge, wide eyes. “Mr. Novak.”

“Time to go home, young lady. It’s late and your parents are probably expecting you. I’ll walk you to do the door.”

She looked at the deeply mortified Dean with a wild expression. 

“I _live_ here,” she sniffed haughtily. “My dad manages this hotel.”

Dean blanched, but Castiel was totally unperturbed. “Very well. You know where the door is, then. Kindly make your exit now and return to your living quarters, if you please, before I report you to your father for crashing a party to which you were not invited and partaking of the food and beverage that I paid for, for _my_ guests only.”

“Oh my god,” Dean moaned softly to himself as he tried to keep from wetting his pants.

“I-”

Castiel deepened his voice even further. “By the way, if your little unauthorized interview shows up in your school paper or on the internet, I’ll also call your father and inform him that my business associates and I will no longer conduct any business at this hotel in perpetuity.”

“In...what?”

“It means I’ll never spend another dollar here again, forever. And I’ll tell him that it’s your fault, and then I’ll ask for reimbursement for the food you stole tonight. I’m going to count to five.”

The girl immediately took off before Castiel could even begin the countdown, and fled quickly down the stairs into the lobby and around the corner.

Dean took a few seconds to digest the scene, then looked aside to Castiel in shock.

“There were no teenagers on the invite list,” Cas said casually. “I approved every single person here. Close your mouth, Dean.”

Dean did, wiping his sweaty hands on his pants at the same time. 

“You may go now, if you wish,” Castiel said in his normal, business-like tone. “Just say goodnight to the three people I introduced to you too, if they’re still here.”

Dean looked around the room, suddenly feeling reinvigorated and a little bit giddy. “Um, actually, I’d like to stay. I’m good. Thank you so much for that. I don’t know what to say.”

“It was my pleasure. Excuse me, Dean.”

He walked away to greet someone who was standing nearby waiting for him, and Dean turned around to look for Sam. He didn’t see him right away, so he went over the dessert station instead and loaded up a plate with tiny little cups of mousse and an individual cherry pie.

Then he went over the piano and sat down a little behind it in order to stay out of sight and enjoy his dessert. He ended up chatting freely with the piano player for well over an hour, and then made his way around the ballroom again just after midnight and ultimately ended up being in the very last group of people to leave the party. Even long after Chuck, Bobby, and Castiel had left.

He went back up to the hotel room to find Sam in bed, gloomily typing on his laptop.

“Thought you ran away,” Sam remarked while still looking at his screen. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Dean grinned. “Yeah. I’m good. Damn, Sammy. That was fun. Did you have fun?”

Sam looked up at him. “Are you drunk?”

“What? No. That’s rude.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. You’re just...not the party type, as you know. Glad you had fun.”

Dean took off his shoes as he talked. “I had a glass of champagne, that’s all. Made me a little giddy, I guess.”

“I had two. That was some seriously good shit. Hey, I’m looking through the hashtag of this event on Twitter. No one even commented that we were late. Not a single person. Maybe that will help Cas go easy on us tomorrow.”

Dean suddenly felt the unpleasant sensation of a bucket of ice water being dumped over his head. Fuck, he’d forgotten all about that...so much for the after-party glow. 

“I’m gonna change.”

He went into the bathroom and got into his pajamas, moping the entire time, and unfairly angry at Sam for refreshing his mind about the incident and dampening his mood.

When he returned to the bedroom he set his phone on the nightstand to set the alarm. A calendar invite suddenly popped in from Castiel, and Dean opened it in trepidation.

_Meeting updated: Rehearsal moved from 8am to 10am_

_Thank god_ , Dean breathed. Two more hours to sleep. He set his alarm to 9am.

Then, another invite popped in a few second later:

_New meeting request: Discussion re: Late to Gala 9am-9:30am Location: Room 2110_

“Fuck,” he said out loud as he grudgingly reset his alarm to 8am. 

“What?” Sam asked absently as he kept typing.

“I just got an invite from Cas. You’re not on it. Did you get one?”

“No. You mean, regarding what happened today?”

“Yeah. And our rehearsal was moved to 10am. The car will pick us up at 9:45.”

“Cool, thanks.”

Dean accepted the meeting invite so that Castiel would know he got it, then set his phone back down and got under all the covers and pulled them up over his head. He was certain he wouldn’t be sleeping tonight, either, but within minutes he fell into a dreamless sleep and didn’t wake up all night.

\------------

Dean was not at all surprised to see the cane on Castiel’s coffee table when he entered the hotel room the next morning, but that didn’t make it any easier to not let his expression darken at the sight.

“Did you have breakfast?” Castiel asked as he picked up a notebook and wrote something down.

“Yes, sir.” Dean hadn’t eaten much, maybe a few bites of the room service omelet was all. There was no way in hell he could stomach more than that at a time like this.

“Sit down at the conference table.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dean was happy to put the cane at his back as he sat; otherwise he would have been staring at it the entire time. 

“Sam’s not here because I don’t blame him for any of this,” said Castiel as he sat down. “Yes, I realized it started after he left his medication in Los Angeles, but your decision not to go back to the hotel was what precipitated the rest of it and directly caused the disaster in question.”

Dean nodded. There was nothing he could say; Castiel was absolutely correct. His eyes wandered down to Castiel’s yellow legal pad, on which he had written a list of things that weren’t quite readable even from this short distance.

“I’m also taking into consideration that your driver was in the wrong as well, by not taking you to the correct hotel when he had the itinerary we gave him. That mistake wasn’t your doing, so I’m not blaming you for that. I hope you’ll learn from it, however, in the future. In some places we’re going the drivers don’t speak any English. I expect you to both have a complete copy of your itinerary on hand at all times, on your person, wherever you go, as well as a complete list of phone numbers in case you lose your phone.” 

“Yes, sir,” Dean answered gloomily as his eyes fell back to the yellow pad again.

“Dean, look at me. This is a learning experience right now for both of us, not a lecture. I also must accept some of the blame for refusing to let you ride in the same car as me, which was petty and unnecessary. This also wouldn’t have happened if not for that.”

Dean was surprised at such an admission; not that Castiel had been petty, because he already knew that - but because he’d actually _admitted_ that he’d been wrong. That was new. 

“I’m only going to cane you for disregarding my instructions to go straight back to the hotel, and for not asking me if you could go get Sam. I would have said no. But I’m simply not willing to take you to task for your driver’s mistake, the traffic, or the broken down train; it wouldn’t be fair. Do you have questions or objections?”

“No, sir,” Dean said after a moment. He could hardly believe how reasonable Castiel was being. “I consent. I’m sorry it came to this.”

“So am I, but I require you to do what I say.” Castiel stood. “Bring me the cane.”

Dean leaped to his feet. “Yes, sir.”


	106. Chapter 106

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I want to make it clear that this is a non-sexual and non-Destiel fic, despite some of the stuff that is said at the end of this chapter.Cheers xoxo

Eight hours until the opening concert of the tour, and nearly everyone found themselves being added to Castiel’s shitlist the moment they happened to get in his way or say the wrong words, or perhaps the right words in the wrong tone, or...maybe even just for blinking. Or breathing. Or existing.

That was all because Castiel was frightfully nervous. And he was taking it out on Sam, Dean, Chuck, Bobby, his newly arrived brothers Michael and Gabriel, and even the luckless event managers who had been following him around all day with clipboard in hand, weren’t spared his wrath.

Sam was highest on the list for now; in the number one spot for daring to suggest that his boss take a few deep breaths to calm himself. Previously Bobby was on top, for mistakenly directing the group through a door that locked them into a corridor for all of ten seconds before they were let out. Before him, Michael and Gabriel for being five minutes late through no fault of their own when security got overzealous about their credentials.

Dean had managed to stay off the list so far by staying out of the way, saying nothing, shrinking into the shadows, and never daring to catch his frazzled boss’s eye. He made himself (and his very sore ass) as small and invisible as possible, but even then, he knew it was a matter of time. He absolutely, unequivocally understood that he would be taking home the gold medal today in the Worst Employee Olympics. It hadn’t happened yet, but it would. 

And it did. He made the mistake of whispering something to Sam while Castiel was speaking, thinking he wouldn’t be noticed, but as it happened, his boss happened to turn his attention directly to his violinist at the wrong moment.

“Dean, please share your observations with the entire group, if they’re that important.”

Dean froze as 10 pairs of eyes fell on him. “I...it...it’s not important, sir.”

“Then why did you interrupt me?”

There was no interruption involved, but Dean would rather have his tongue cut out with a dull steak knife than to contradict the man right now. He quickly apologized, then did everything he could to keep his lips glued shut. It wasn’t meant to be, however.

“Did you have a question, or a concern? Now’s the time,” Castiel asked, seemingly polite, but anyone who knew him well would know exactly what kind of life-altering danger lay behind that tone. Dean, most of all. He resisted the urge to rub the burning sting out of his rear again while he contemplated his options for replying.

“I just need to use the restroom, sir,” Dean lied boldly, with a slight blush. His real words had actually been something along the lines of Cas scaring him shitless, which was close enough.

There was no doubt Castiel knew he was lying; his eyes told the tale as clearly as if his thoughts were projected onto an IMAX screen in 3D. But Dean had chosen those words carefully; no one in their right mind would say no to such a request or fault the person for having basic human needs. 

Or maybe not. Once again, Dean Winchester had underestimated Castiel Novak.

“Return to the hotel if you’re so uninterested in our proceedings this afternoon. I will want to meet with you when I get back.”

Dean blanched, and the collective gasp from the group only added to his humiliation.

“But...sir..”

“My driver is outside. Have him take you. Go.”

Dean took a slow step backwards, his skin rising up in goosebumps and his stomach churning unpleasantly. Everyone was watching him, at least until Castiel addressed them again. Then ten heads whipped back the other direction, away from his shame. 

Even Sam wasn’t looking at him now. 

Dean backed up until he hit the stage door, then he threw it open noisily and let it slam behind him. The last thing he saw before he stomped off were Castiel’s narrowed eyes glaring at him through the little square glass window.

\------------

_\- Come to 2210 in ten minutes. Confirm you received this._

_\- Yes, sir_

Dean threw his legs over the side of the bed as Sam entered the room gloomily.

“What’d I miss?” Dean asked lightly, almost jokingly, not wanting to let on that he’d been in sheer agony and skirting the edge of panic for the past two hours.

“Castiel calmed down a lot after you left. Like, almost normal again. Starting to wonder if maybe you were the one making him a nervous wreck.”

“Probably,” Dean admitted.

“Did he cane you yesterday?” Sam asked quietly as he set his coat on the back of the chair and began to unknot his tie.

“Um. What if he did?” Dean asked cautiously. “Would you freak out on him?”

“No.” Sam sat down and took off his shoes. “But if he did it for us being late to the gala, I’d just be pissed at you for taking all the blame. You know how I feel about that kind of shit. We’re not kids anymore, and he’s not dad.”

“No, but it was my fault.” 

“How, exactly? It wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t given the wrong address for the pharmacy.”

Dean froze again; it seemed like he froze at least a dozen times a day in surprise lately. “I thought….you said _your insurance_  sent it to the wrong place?”

“Um. No, it was my mistake.”

“Sam!” Dean exploded. “Yeah, I got my ass beat for you, you...you... _fuck,_ man. Seriously? Like, how hard is it to look up an address?”

Sam instantly got defensive, as Dean fully expected. “You mean like how your driver took us to the wrong hotel in a completely different _state_? Shit, it happens, and I’ve never been here before. So I’m human, sue me.”

Dean seethed as he tied his shoelaces, but said nothing.

“Where are you going?” Sam asked, quieter than before.

“Starbucks,” Dean lied. “Want anything?”

“No, thanks. I’m sorry, Dean.” Sam really was, too; his face was a hundred percent distress and regret. “Forget that I even gave them the wrong address. It wouldn’t have happened at all if I hadn’t left my medication back home like a dumbass.”

That inarguable fact didn’t make Dean feel any better whatsoever, but he swallowed his resentment and said nothing.

After a minute, Sam asked, “Can I go to Starbucks with you? I’ll buy. My treat.”

“Yeah, like that’s gonna make these fucking welts just magically disappear,” Dean snorted. “You stay here and stay out of trouble. I’ll be back in a bit.”

“From Starbucks. _Right._ Because everyone puts on a tie and jacket to go to Starbucks. Perfectly normal.”

Dean jolted as his heart fell from being called out in the lie. “Fine. I have to go see Cas. But I really am going there afterwards. Wasn’t lying.”

“Yeah you were.”

Sam was staring at him - not quite glaring, but Dean couldn’t put a finger on what word to use to describe his little brother’s expression. 

“I’ll be back,” Dean said again as he opened the door.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“You planning to shoplift your coffee or something? Don’t forget your wallet.” 

Sam threw it to him, and Dean caught it deftly, but then threw it back. “Got the Starbucks app for that. Welcome to 2018, bitch.”

“You don’t have your phone either, jerk.”

Sam eyed the iPhone on the nightstand, and Dean let out an irritated sigh as he closed the door and went to get it.

“Sam...you’re not making this any easier. Can you stop being a douchebag for five seconds, please?”

“Don’t lie to me, and I won’t be.”

Dean nodded as he pocketed his phone. “Fair enough. I have to see Cas about the little incident this afternoon. Wasn’t planning to get coffee, just didn’t want you to worry.”

Sam scrunched up his forehead. “I always worry about you, Dean. You’re my brother.”

“No chick flick moments. See you in a little while.”

“Good luck.”

\------------------------

Two minutes into the conversation and Dean was already breathing hard through his nose and fighting to control his temper. “I did nothing wrong, sir. You’re being a tyrant, and you need to calm down.”

“The concert is in four hours.”

“That’s why you need to calm down. If you’re thinking of caning me for this, my answer is no, I don’t consent. Absolutely not, sir.”

Castiel set down his bottle of water. “No. I wasn’t thinking that at all.”

“Oh. I thought-”

“You thought wrong. I’m having a really hard time right now, Dean. Truth is, I don’t trust you not to fuck up. I think you’re going to freeze the moment you set foot on stage, okay? Or if not then, sometime during this concert, and all the others.”

Dean sucked in a deep breath, both at Castiel’s rude statement and his unprecented use of the F-word.

“Wow. No need to pussyfoot, how about you just tell me what you really think? Jesus.”

“Do you blame me?”

“No. Yes! I mean…” Dean threw up his hands in disgust. “Great. Fucking fantastic. I finally get my confidence all built up after all this time, and now you’re sending me right back down the rabbit hole with four hours to go. Thanks a lot, appreciate that. Can I go now?”

“No. First of all, you’re going to stop cursing, and you’re going to speak to me respectfully. Secondly, we need to set some expectations for tonight, and deal with how to manage my anxiety around your performance. Anxiety _you_ have directly caused me, may I add? This isn’t something that I did to myself. I have _never_ been so nervous at the start of a tour as I am right now, and it’s all because of you. Don’t act like you don’t understand what I’m talking about.”

All of the emotions that Dean had been trying to shed for months suddenly resurfaced and flooded his memory. They had been held back by a dam of sheer willpower since dad died, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold it for long. His heart was suddenly submerged by doubt, regrets, self-pity, and worst of all - guilt. Tons of guilt. Enormous amounts of guilt that he would never be able to swallow down and get rid of.

Castiel was absolutely right. Dean wanted to sputter that the great Castiel Novak wasn’t being fair, that he was overreacting, being a drama queen...but he knew in his heart that it was none of those. He couldn’t breathe suddenly, and barely heard Castiel asking him to leave.

“Wait. Sir.”

“It’s no use, Dean. We need to just make it through the next few days while I talk to my brothers and get your replacements here. I will give you severance pay, lots of it, and you can work at the center until I get back. Even after that, if you want.”

“No, we’re not doing this again,” Dean said quickly, sudden feeling emboldened and terrified all at once. “I’m tired of all the back and forth of you firing me, or me quitting, or whatever. I’m going to make you proud again, sir. So is Sam. At least wait until tonight is over before you do something drastic.”

“You mean the thing I should have been doing all along? Getting rid of you both?” 

“That’s not fair. You said three days ago you were proud of me. Why, exactly? Try to remember.”

“I’ve already forgotten. You two have been screwing up left and right since the moment we touched down at Dulles, and I haven’t slept for three days because of it.”

“Then cane me for every mistake on stage,” Dean blurted quickly, even surprising himself at the request.

“What?”

“Every single mistake. A missed note, a late cue. As many as I make, I’ll take. And start at the concert tonight.”

Castiel looked aghast. “What?”

“I’ve learned during therapy that for better or worse, I work best when I’m threatened. I don’t know why. I’m broken, fucked up. My dad completely screwed up my psyche. But you already know that. You know I always feel better afterwards, anyway, and I learn from it, as much as I hate it. Like the six you gave me yesterday. You think I’ll be late for anything, ever again?”

“No. And no, I’m not doing it.”

“Try it. You’ve got that little counter that you use to count your own mistakes, right? Use it for me. I mean it. What’s the worst that could happen? You already think I’m going to fail spectacularly anyway, right? At least you can get some satisfaction by taking it out of my ass afterwards.”

“You’re out of your mind. Absolutely not.”

“Cas. Please listen carefully. I’ve...this is probably way too much information, but being hard-wired as a submissive is not something I can just switch off outside the bedroom. Do you understand?”

Castiel locked stunned eyes with him. “That was _definitely_ way too much information.”

“Well, whatever,” Dean shrugged. “I can’t fight biology, and I’ve tried. My therapist and I have been discussing this for a long time. You’ve been way too easy on me lately, and I’ve been going downhill because of it. Look, I’m done being ashamed of it. It is what it is. I need the threat of punishment to do my best, no matter how much I hate it. Always have and always will. At least give it a try before you give up on me completely. Please.”

Castiel picked up his water bottle again. “How did you know about that counter?”

“Everyone does. Sorry.”

“Alright. We’ll try it.”

Dean was astonished at his boss’s easy capitulation. “What? Are you serious?”

Castiel capped his water and walked over to put it back into the fridge. “I’m not happy about this, Dean, but desperate times call for desperate measures. If that’s what you need, I’ll give it to you. Anything to keep this concert from becoming a complete disaster.”

“Oh. Thanks for your vote of confidence.”

“You’re welcome. I need to think. Please leave now.”

Dean stood up, his face flushing red now that he was starting to come to terms with everything he’d just said.

“Thank you, sir. I’ll see you at 5:30pm.”

“Don’t be late.”


	107. Chapter 107

Dean desperately needed a nap, but there were three factors stopping him: the pain in his ass, the worry in his mind, and his brother’s endless bouncing around the room like a puppy in anticipation for the concert.

“Sam! This is a two-room suite for a reason. Go into the other room, for fuck’s sake.”

“Sorry,” Sam grinned at his annoyed brother. “We’re playing the freakin’ Kennedy Center.”

“I _know!_ Shut up.”

Sam looked looked like he was going to go in the other room, but he changed his mind and came to sit next to Dean on his bed.

“What’s wrong? Besides...you know. The whole caning thing.”

Dean peered at him with one eye from beneath the covers. “Nothing.”

“You’re not nervous, are you?”

 _Yes._ “Of course not. I just want to be rested up and you’re absolutely _not_ helping. Go away.” Dean pulled the covers back over his head, and Sam pulled them back off.

“I’m sorry, Dean-”

“Sam! I swear to god, if you don’t-”

He stopped abruptly when the custom notification tone on his phone announced a new text from Castiel, then looked over at the clock; it was only 3pm.

“Shit. Hand me my phone.”

Instead of going around the bed, Sam mischievously clambered over his brother where he lay to reach the other nightstand, accidentally kneeing Dean in the groin as he did so and taking half the covers with him.

“Ow! Sam! You weigh like a thousand pounds, get off me.”

“It’s Cas.”

“I know. Give it to me.”

“He wants to see you in ten minutes and says bring your contract. How romantic.”

“ _Phone_ , Sam.”

Dean didn’t wait for it to be handed it over and instead reached across and snatched it away. “Get off me, bitch,” he repeated, without heat.

“Jerk.” Sam picked up a pillow and bashed it into his brother’s face with a devilish smirk. “Pillow fight!”

“Oh my fucking god. You’re such a child!” Dean yelled as he crossed his arms over his face to defend himself from another blow.

Sam bashed him again anyway, sending the phone flying. Dean managed to grab a hold of the pillow and yank it away, but he misjudged the pull and banged his elbow into the magnificent glass lamp on the nightstand. Before he could react, the huge lamp fell over and smashed itself to smithereens on the wood floor. The pop of the lightbulb followed only a second later, and the room went pitch black.

“Oh, fuck,” Sam mumbled as he stumbled around to open the blackout curtains. The sight that the sun greeted them with was not pretty; there was glass everywhere, scattered from the bed to the doorway and beyond. Dean sat up and searched for his phone, but it was wedged too far down between the mattress and headboard for him to reach.

“Alright. I’m gonna go meet with Cas,” he said firmly, “and when I get back, all this shit’s gonna be cleaned up and you’re gonna retrieve my phone. Then we’re gonna have a talk about acting like a fucking adult. You understand me?”

Sam nodded wordlessly, then laughed while Dean got up to tiptoe around the debris and into the bathroom. Dean’s phone chimed again, faintly, but he ignored it and picked up his toothbrush.

\--------------

“Sir...I don’t understand,” Dean said quietly, paling a little. “I don’t...we don’t need a contract for this agreement. I’m not going to back out. I’ll take what I deserve.”

Castiel shook his head. “I’ve never, ever caned my musicians for mistakes while playing. I’m highly uncomfortable with this in so many ways. If you’re going to insist upon it, we’re going to amend your contract. And then we’re going to add a rock-solid confidentiality agreement for both sides, because I’m sure as hell not letting anyone know about this except Michael. I’m not negotiating on this point, so don’t argue with me. That’s going to take a few hours to get.”

“But...can’t we just try it for one night? Maybe it won’t work and then I’m locked into this thing for seven months.”

Castiel shrugged. “If it doesn’t work, and you fail tonight, I’m going to let you go anyway. So your argument is trivial.”

Dean was stone-faced. “I don’t like this, Cas. Sir, I mean. Sorry.”

“Neither do I. But we’re not doing this halfway, Dean. So if that means both of us agreeing to things we don’t like in order to save this tour, then that’s what we’re going to do.”

“But...what if I decide I don’t want that anymore?”

“Then you will both leave the tour.”

“ _Both_?” 

“Yes, but not by my doing. Sam has told me on multiple occasions that if I fire you, he’ll quit and pay the termination fee. Somehow he thinks that would endear me to him in some sort of twisted act of brotherly love, but I assure you, it’s done just the opposite.”

Dean looked sideways at his boss. “Ah. That’s why you’re not talking to him.”

“Correct. He doesn’t know I’m upset at him, I think. I didn’t want to stir up any more drama.”

Dean’s heart fell a little. “You’re right, sir. He doesn’t know. He thinks everything’s peachy keen.”

“Let him think that. The fewer words I hear coming out of his mouth, the better for all of us. Now we need to get back to the subject at hand. I’ve drafted up an amendment to cover this new, um, situation.”

 _Fuck._ Dean felt his heart racing as he took the paper, and his adrenaline began taking laps around his body from head to toe. He had known the moment he saw Sam’s new travel books and blank journal that he would do anything to avoid being fired in the first week, even if that meant lying about his own needs.

And he _had_ lied. Big time. He didn’t need this new agreement. He certainly didn’t want to be caned at all. Even worse, he wasn’t a submissive personality by any means, either inside or outside the bedroom. 

Truth was, he had never expected Castiel to accept the verbal diarrhea of a suggestion. He had counted on Cas rejecting the idea, then softening his stance and backing down a little to give Dean some breathing room. He had done that before, so many times.

But Dean had just realized how insane he had been to assume such a thing from a man who never failed to surprise him, and also how utterly hopeless it was to try and back out now. He would just have to not make any mistakes on stage, and that was the end of it. He picked up a pen and clicked it against his teeth as he read, but he barely scanned it as his brain worked overtime.

The problem was, everyone was lying. Cas was lying to Sam, Dean was lying to Cas, Sam lied to Dean several times just yesterday alone.

_If only all the fucking lying could stop and we could just all sit down and have an adult conversation…_

“Dean? I have a meeting at 3:15.”

“Yes, sir. Um.”

“What?”

_Tell him._

“If you’re really not comfortable with this, I’ll understand. I get it, I mean...I did share way too much information earlier and you seemed kind of shell-shocked. Maybe we should wait.”

Castiel shook his head. “I’ve come to terms with it over the last couple of hours. I get the kind of psychology you described to me. I’ll never agree with it, but I do understand this is what you need, against my best judgement. And if it’s going to save this tour, then by all means, sign it.”

Dean felt a twinge of pain in his ass as he set the paper on the table and bent over it with pen poised to sign. His eye caught the cane still lying on the chair where it had been left this morning, and he shuddered a little. Then he replayed in his head all the romantic phrases Sam was trying to learn in French and Italian in order to communicate with the local girls on the tour. He had been practicing them for weeks, much to Dean’s annoyance, after insisting that when in Rome…

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“Are you saying we’ll never be able to cancel this?”

“Correct. I’m committing you to it for seven months. Or seven hours, depending on how tonight goes. That’s how contracts work, Dean. You don’t just make them and break them at will.”

_Fuck._

“So, if I don’t sign...”

“Don’t sign? Dean, this was _your_ idea! I just spent two hours agonizing over it, and now you’ve changed your mind?”

“No, sir,” Dean said quickly. “I’m just nervous.”

“Not even a quarter as nervous as I am, I promise you that. Of course you can refuse to sign. I’m not some kind of sadist. I repeat, this was _your_ idea. You assured me this was the right thing to do. Are you coming to a different conclusion now?”

“No, sir.”

“Then make a decision, if you please.”

Dean hesitated. Then he remembered the ever-growing stack of Sam’s books. The new tenants that were renting Sam’s house for six months. The foreign language lessons. All the money they were about to have in the bank. 

And what awaited both of them back home if they failed. Ridicule and unemployment. Empty bank accounts. Sam’s eternal disappointment in his brother.

Dean took a deep breath, glanced at the cane again, then quickly signed before he lost his nerve.


	108. Chapter 108

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we come full circle at last.

Dean straightened up and stretched after he had signed the amendment to the contract; the effort making him cringe and sweat a little. Damn, but that cane _hurt._

“Sir, I know you’re not comfortable with this. I get it. You can cancel it at any time,” he tried, hoping the twinges of desperation that were trying to pull the words back in didn’t actually come through in his tone, which he thought probably sounded a little shaky.

Castiel signed after Dean, then told him to pull out his phone.

“Uh. It’s in my room, sir.”

“Oh. I wanted you to take a picture of this page since I don’t have a copier. I’ll just do it and text it to you.”

“No!” Dean blurted as Cas started to pull his phone out. “Sorry, didn’t mean to shout. Sam has my phone. He’ll see it. Can I just do it later?”

Castiel nodded, then narrowed his eyes a little. “You seem awfully twitchy for someone who just got exactly what he wanted.”

Dean gulped, then tried to relax. “I...I just wanted to make sure you know how important this tour is to me, and to Sam. We don’t want to let you down. We’re willing to do anything to make it work. But…”

“What?”

“Does Michael _really_ have to know?”

“What makes you think he doesn’t already know? Of course he does. He wrote this amendment, and as I mentioned, he’s also writing the confidentiality agreement.”

Dean felt like crying all of a sudden. “I’m just...this is kind of humiliating, I have to be honest. I’m sorry, I know I asked for it.”

“How are you getting along with Sam today?” Castiel asked abruptly as he walked away from the table and carefully replaced the contract back into his briefcase.

“We’re fine. We’re good.”

“Hmmm. How did you end up with blood on your arm?”

Dean looked at his right arm, then his left, and sure enough there was a big splotch of blood just above his elbow where he had bashed it into the glass lamp.

“Oh. Um...it’s dried, it looks a lot worse than it is.”

“Answer the question, and don’t lie.” Castiel slammed his briefcase closed and turned to look at his violinist, crossing his arms at the same time and scowling. Dean’s knees went a little rubbery suddenly.

“I...Sam and I...no, it was my fault. We broke, rather I broke, a lamp in our room. Knocked it over accidentally, didn’t even realize it cut me. It’s fine, Sam’s cleaning it up.”

Castiel didn’t say anything; he just calmly held his questioning gaze, waiting for more explanation that he knew was hiding within Dean somewhere.

“It was an accident,” Dean added feebly. “I’ll pay for it.”

“Yes you will. Go down to the front desk and explain what happened, and pay for it on the spot. I want to see a receipt when we leave for the Kennedy Center.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And if you rough house again and break something else next time, it might be your wrist or your arm. Obviously, if you or Sam can’t play because you were acting stupid, you’ll be in violation of your contract and dismissed without pay. Not to mention that I will not tolerate my employees acting like hooligans while traveling with me on business, on my dime. We have a reputation to build and maintain everywhere we go, and acting like a low-class, washed-up, hotel-room-destroying rock band on drugs is _not_ it. Are we perfectly clear?”

Dean nodded breathlessly. Cas sounded like John Winchester with that hellfire speech. “Yep. Gotcha. Yes, sir.”

“I have a mind to cane you again for this, but I’ll refrain. I think having to pay for the lamp will be more than enough punishment.”

Dean shuddered from head to toe. Jesus, he sounded _just_ like dad. It was totally unnerving.

“It was just a lamp,” he muttered defensively, against his better judgement. “It’s not like we threw all the furniture off the balcony into the pool.”

Castiel was staring him down now as if he was burning a hole into the floor with his eyes for Dean to fall into. 

“Yes, sir,” Dean amended hastily. “I understand. My apologies.”

“How long have you been my employee, Dean?” Castiel asked calmly.

“Five months, sir.”

“And you still haven’t learned not to talk back to me? What do I have to do to get through to you?”

Dean stayed silent; absolutely nothing he said at this point could make this any better.

“Send Sam up to me,” Castiel said offhandedly as he uncrossed his arms and turned away. “Apparently I need to give him the same speech.”

“I’m his boss, I’ll tell him. Sir.”

“Sorry Dean, I don’t trust you to do a good job of that. This wouldn’t have happened if you tried harder to keep him in line.”

Dean sighed and fought back his bitter retort. “Fine. Can I go?”

“Excuse me?”

“May I go, sir?”

Castiel nodded, and Dean turned and all but ran through the door and out in the hallway. Then he went down the lobby, walked to the front desk, then kept going out the side door and headed to the grocery store a block away. 

\-------------

5pm

“ _Dean_? What the actual fuck? Where have you been? I’ve been freaking out!”

Sam was freaking out, too; his face was almost white and he was sweating profusely.

“Had to pay for that fucking lamp. Almost a thousand bucks. Who spends a thousand-”

“Cas is on the freakin’ warpath right now! Why didn’t you tell me he wanted to see me? For fuck’s sake, Dean! You idiot!”

Dean froze in his tracks, his heart pounding, the hotel room door slamming behind him. “Oh my god. I totally forgot.”

“You’ve been gone for two hours! What the hell is wrong with you?” Sam was nearly apoplectic.

“I went to…” Dean couldn’t speak; he was suddenly numb with anxiety from head to toe.

“Cas came down to get me and I had to tell him you hadn’t returned. Everyone’s looking for you. I repeat, where the hell have you been?”

Dean numbly walked over the bed and sat down, then picked up his phone to text Castiel.

_\- I’m back in the room. So sorry. I got angry and left and forgot you wanted to see Sam_

 The read receipt came back instantly, and Dean held his in anticipation of the inevitable terse, carefully worded comeback that was sure to sting hard.

Nothing.

“Dean, I swear to god I would kill you myself if Cas wasn’t first in line. Where did you go?”

“To get some booze.”

“Oh my god,” Sam said quietly. “You didn’t.”

Dean looked up at him. “Yeah, I did. It’s not against the fucking law, and I’m not drunk. Just needed to take the edge off. So back the fuck up and leave me alone!”

Dean coldly ignored Sam’s stunned, hurt expression and looked back down at his screen. Still no reply from Cas. Not even the three dots indicating he was going to reply. Dean threw the phone down in frustration.

“We need to get dressed. Car’s coming in 27 minutes.”

“Dean-”

Dean retreated into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him. Then he sat down on the toilet seat and buried his head in his hands.

They left for the Kennedy Center precisely at 5:30, but in separate cars from the Novak brothers. Sam had meanwhile returned to his good cheer, but Dean could barely speak in his misery.

\------------

**7:30pm - Showtime**

“You’re gonna crush your damned violin. Relax.”

Dean loosened his grip, but his hands were so sweaty that he nearly dropped the precious instrument instead of crushing it to splinters.

“Sorry, Sam. Stage fright.”

“You’ve never had stage fright in your life!”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, well, we’ve never played the Kennedy Center, either. There’s a first time for everything.”

“Okay, well, time to get your shit together, because-”

They both stiffened as Castiel appeared behind them and blocked out the glare of the blue backstage light. Neither one of them actually saw him; the clomping and heavy tread of the piano virtuoso’s feet was entirely unmistakable.

“Gents,” he grumbled deeply as he stopped within inches of them. Dean imagined he could feel the man breathing down his shirt and subconsciously squeezed the neck of his violin again, causing the strings to twang unpleasantly.

“Uh, yeah?” Dean blurted quickly.

“Sir?” Sam answered politely, throwing his brother dagger glares at the same time.

“Everything alright?” Cas asked, a hint of warning in his tone.

“We’re good. You?”

Castiel slowly stepped around the brothers to face them; his face was barely visible but his presence - as always - could have easily been felt in the pitch black. As it was now, it was almost overwhelming.

“Bows up when I give the signal this time. Not before. Remember who’s in charge, Dean.”

Dean swallowed hard and nodded; at the same time, the chimes from the Kennedy Center’s bell ringers were heard ringing across the concert hall. Five minutes.

Cas disappeared into curtains again, and Sam and Dean were alone.

“A great fucking time to get stage fright, dude,” Sam muttered angrily.

_I should have never fucking agreed to this._

Dean gulped, wiped his forehead with his chinrest cloth, and then looked over again at the little digital counter that was sitting on the Steinway. The one facing Dean’s chair directly, in a way that the audience and Sam could not see, but that Dean himself would be unable to ignore during the entirety of the concert.

Dean wiped his forehead again. "Okay. I'm fine, Sam. Sorry. Just got a little-"

The lights went out in the house, and the concert hall fell instantly silent, along with the two brothers.

_Shit._

There was Castiel again, hovering impatiently next to them, looming large even in the blinding darkness. Dean couldn’t breathe.

The spotlight lit up to the piano bench, and the legendary Castiel Novak walked out to the rousing cheers and standing ovation accorded to one of the most famous pianists on the planet. Dean watched him move towards the edge of the stage, take a slight bow, move three steps back, take another slight bow, then turn to look at Sam and Dean. There was a slight eyebrow raise, and two more spotlights came up that pointed directly into the wings.

“Fuck me, I can’t do this,” Dean said out loud as he took his first steps onto the stage, feeling like a wobbly toddler might, while Sam followed close behind and urged him to smile.

More cheering. It was overwhelming; neither brother had ever experienced anything like it. All three men moved to the end of the stage and bowed together once, then twice. The audience hushed, and the trio took their seats. Sam pulled out the endpin of his cello and stuck it into the waiting puck, while the music turner took her place next to Castiel on the piano bench.

 _Just breathe._ Dean could hear his heart beating over the expectant silence as he tucked his violin under his chin, and at the worst possible moment - _just_ as Castiel lifted his eyebrows for the upbeat of the first note, Dean dropped his bow.

The audience gasped, of course. It was one of the worst things that could happen to a budding violinist on the world stage. Dean calmly picked it back up, then wiped his sweaty hands on his tuxedo. He wasn’t sure if his heart was still beating, but probably not. Sam was nearly vibrating in frustration beside him.

Dean took a deep, shaky breath and lifted his eyes to meet Novak’s, then he nearly faltered again as his eyes landed just below the man’s annoyed blue gaze.

The counter had changed to one.

Dean clenched his ass, then took a deep breath and lifted the bow over the strings again.

Unprompted.

_Two..._

 


	109. Chapter 109

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just want to reiterate that everyone responds differently to punishment. Some find it cleansing, some find it damaging. I'm firmly of the latter group, which is why I find this subject so fascinating and can't stop writing about it. Just to be clear: there is nothing wrong with either scenario, and Dean is not broken because it helps him at first. If we all reacted the same to everything, this big ol' planet would be terribly boring.
> 
> I repeat...it helps Dean, at first...then he starts to gain confidence, and, well...that's when he starts to regret the contract. You'll have to wait a few more chapters for that turnaround point :) CHEERS AND THANKS FOR READING

_Three._

Dean set his violin on his knee after the curtains had closed and breathed out in the most controlled manner he could manage. His head was spinning, heady with various emotions that ranged all over the map from excitement to anxiety to dread. 

They’d made it through half of the first concert with no major breakdowns. In fact, there was nothing minor even worth mentioning, either. It also seemed way too good to be true.

Dean glanced at Castiel for approval but got none; he merely stood up from his piano and unceremoniously walked off into the wings on the opposite side of the stage, leaving his two musicians staring at each other blankly.

Sam’s forehead was deeply furrowed again. “Um. So...does that mean he’s…”

“Nah,” Dean waved off as he set his violin into the little hooks that kept it carefully hanging and ready to play again. “Remember what Gabriel said. Cas will never talk to us during the concert.”

“He won’t talk to you afterwards, either,” Gabriel confirmed as he strolled onto the stage. “So don’t take it personally. I’ve told you this. He needs hours to decompress and come back to himself. You probably won’t hear a word until morning.”

Dean stood up and paced around a little to help calm his jangling nerves. “Would it kill him to just say anything, though?”

“How are we doing?” asked Sam cautiously as he threw a glare at his brother.

Gabriel smiled a little. “Did you somehow not hear that roaring applause and two thousand collective bravos? You’re doing fucking amazing. Dean? What are you…”

Dean had paused his pacing route and was leaning against the piano now, his hand over his heart, and his face turning white.

“Shit, guys...I’m gonna pass out.”

Sam quickly set his cello on the floor and stood up while Gabe grabbed the piano bench and scooted it under Dean’s butt.

“Sam?” Dean called faintly. 

“Right here. Dude, hey. Sit.” Sam gently forced him down. “You’re okay.”

All three men looked up as Castiel reappeared and quickly crossed the stage to Dean’s side, quickly waving away Gabriel’s apology for moving his piano bench.

“Dean? You’re okay.” Castiel sat on the other end of the bench and put a heavy, gentle hand on his violinist’s shoulder. “Most of my musicians have this same reaction on their debut night. Even Gabriel did. Just ride it out. Don’t fight it, you’ll make it worse. Right, Gabe?”

Gabe nodded sagely, but stayed quiet as Dean started to heave deep breaths.

“You’ve never touched me before,” he gasped very quickly as he glanced at his boss.

“What?”

“Nothing. I need air. Like right now.”

“It’s a long walk to the fresh air,” Castiel replied calmly. “Probably half a mile of corridors. You’ll be fine here. Sam, get him some iced water from the green room. Gabe, go tell the house manager to extend intermission by ten more minutes.”

“But-”

“Go, both of you. And tell the stagehands to leave us alone for a few minutes.”

Castiel said nothing more, just calmly held onto the heaving shoulder as Dean blushed fiercely while trying to collect himself.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I’ll remove the counter-”

“No, it’s not that. The cheering. Holy shit. I just…didn’t see that coming.”

Castiel nodded. “It's a lot to handle. Especially for someone who was expecting to fail and didn’t.”

Dean looked up at his boss in confusion, which quickly changed to anger. “This is your fault! I wasn’t expecting to fail until you said _you_ were expecting me to fail!”

“Dean-”

“Which is a completely bullshit thing to tell me at the last second, by the way!” Dean angrily heaved in another deep breath, then flexed his fingers experimentally. “My hands are going numb.”

“Because you’re hyperventilating. Slow down your breathing. Try counting to ten between-” 

“Get the fuck off me,” Dean growled, almost to himself, even though it was clear who he was really addressing by the way he yanked his shoulder away.

Castiel removed his hand and hastily stood back up. “I’m going to find Sam. Be right back. Slow your breathing, Dean, or else you really are going to pass out.”

“This was such a bad idea,” Dean muttered for the tenth time today, at least. “Should’ve just gone to jail.”

“You’re going to be fine,” Castiel said quietly, his face a portrait of concern and confusion.

“Fuck off, you dick,” Dean replied hotly, just as the curtains at the edges of his own eyes started to close and grey out his vision.

He heard people coming back, so he decided against faceplanting on the stage and instead laid down on it carefully, then willingly accepted the suggestion to rest his head in Sam’s lap. He closed his eyes and skirted the edge of consciousness for a little while, vaguely aware of at least five people surrounding him and speaking in hushed tones. At least two of them were holding his hands. Dean was coherent enough to notice that Castiel’s voice was not present among the chorus of soothing advice, which helped him feel a little bit better. Eventually, however, someone suggested calling a medical professional.

“I’m fine,” Dean insisted groggily as he peeled open his eyelids to find his vision valiantly attempting to un-double itself.

“Shhh,” Sam responded gently. “Yeah you’re good, but just hang out down here a little while longer.”

“How, how long is inter-m-m-mission?”

“As long as you need it to be,” said Gabriel’s voice. “Your color’s coming back into your face now. You’re good. Breathe normally.”

“Sam-”

“Shh.”

“Sam. I just called Cas a dick. Oh my god.”

There was a stunned silence from the group, then a bare chuckle of laughter from someone behind him. 

“No doubt it was well-deserved,” answered Michael’s voice, which was blissfully light and playful in tone. “Relax, Dean. You’re going to be fine. Give him more water, Sam.”

——-

The counter thankfully stayed put at three throughout the second half of the concert, although Dean knew at least two more should be added. He wasn’t playing as well as he had pre-blackout, nor could he focus as intently, but as he took his bow and the yells of the crowd washed over his body like pleasantly warm water, he was content in the knowledge that he had done his absolute best.

Despite their enthusiastic reception, Dean was unusually quiet in their shared dressing room afterwards. After Sam changed his clothes and packed up to go, still reveling in the delightful buzzy feeling in his heart, he could no longer ignore his brother’s apparent melancholy.

“Something wrong?”

“Nah. Just trying to figure out if they were cheering for us, or for Cas.”

Sam grinned. “All of us, maybe? What’s up, you look like you just played to a half-empty bar instead of the freakin-”

“Kennedy Center, Yeah. I know. Just tired, maybe. It’s been a day.”

“You can say that again. Well-”

A knock on their door interrupted Dean, then Chuck stuck his head in.

“You guys ready to go?”

“Yeah,” replied Sam.

“I want to see Castiel first,” Dean answered firmly. “I won’t take no for an answer. Go tell him.”

——

Castiel was just putting his music away when his suddenly emboldened star violinist entered his dressing room a minute later.

“Did you bring the cane?” Dean blurted without preamble.

“Yes.”

“Get it out. Let’s do this and get it over with.”

Castiel stared at him wordlessly. 

“Did you hear me? And add a fourth one for me calling you a dick. I deserve it, won’t complain. Hurry up before I lose my nerve and hop the next plane back to Los Angeles.”

It still took another long moment for Castiel to absorb what he was hearing before he could reply in his usual tight, no-nonsense tone.

“Three things. First of all, Dean, don’t order me around like you’re in charge. I get why you’re doing it, that it’s all false bravado and bluster because you’re nervous, but just don’t. Secondly, our contract specified that consent goes both ways, and I don’t consent. We’ll meet tomorrow night about it. Third, I’m not adding a fourth one because you were absolutely right.”

Dean could barely find his voice. “Uh, what now?”

“I shouldn’t have said what I said earlier today, and I apologize. Are you feeling well enough to backdoor with me?”

Dean blinked twice in surprise at that, _backdoor_ to him certainly had to mean something different than what it meant to Castiel…

“I don’t know?” he replied carefully.

“You don’t know what that means, I’m guessing. Chuck just told me there is a gaggle of admirers waiting for us at the artist’s entrance and I’d like us all to go out and greet them. Considering their apparent age, I’m guessing they’re here for you and Sam, not me.”

“Oh. I think you meant stagedoor.” 

“Isn’t that what I said?”

Despite his dark mood, Dean couldn’t help but crack a slight grin at Castiel’s confusion. “Never mind. No, sir, I really don’t want to. Do I have to?”

“I...well, no. A requirement to stagedoor is not in your contract.”

Dean nodded; Castiel was clearly disappointed with him again, and that was the last thing he wanted. 

“I’ll do it if you cane me now instead of waiting. I won’t be able to sleep knowing what’s coming in the morning.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Sir, please.” Dean closed his eyes for a few seconds to calm himself. “This isn’t bluster and bravado. Just get it over with, I’m not a fucking coward.”

“I said no,” repeated Castiel sternly, his gaze implacable. “Wait. Did you even read the contract amendment all the way through? It clearly stated that you have 24 hours to change your mind, so until then, I’m not doing anything. Especially not while we’re still awaiting the confidentiality agreement.”

“I remember that,” Dean grumbled. “I just…”

“This conversation is over. Are you going to stagedoor, or not? We need to go.”

“No, sir.” Dean felt like dissolving into tears suddenly, and gloomily obeyed when Castiel asked him to leave. 

\-----------

The entire team met the next morning at 9am in a conference room in the hotel; Castiel had been adamant about it. Everyone was profoundly weary from the previous day’s events, but they knew it was necessary. That didn’t mean they had to like it, though.

Dean was last to arrive, although still a couple minutes early. He grabbed a gigantic cheese danish and a coffee off the sideboard, then hastily put the pastry back after catching Castiel’s raised eyebrow and took some fruit and yogurt instead. He sat down next to Sam, who had already eaten half of said danish with no apparent argument from Castiel. It irked him to no end, but he shoved his feelings aside and sat down with Bobby on the other side.

“How you doin’, kiddo,” Bobby asked gently. 

“Good. Thanks.”

“Did you sleep well?”

“Nope.” Dean looked up as a bottle of water was shoved in front of him by his apparently grumpy boss. “Thank you, sir,” he said politely as he opened it and downed half of it under Castiel’s watchful gaze.

Everyone at the table visibily tensed up, even Sam, when Castiel finally opened the meeting.

“Gentlemen. The concert was a success. Four of the five draft reviews that were sent to me give us four and a half out of five stars, and the fifth one gave us three out of four. That’s the Washington Post, and anyone who’s ever read their reviews knows they are incredibly averse to praise. So, needless to say, I deem even 75% approval with them a victory. Good job to all of you, and thank you.”

There was a bit of a stunned silence around the table, then several grins broke out, then clapping. Everyone except Dean. The two Benadryl he had taken to sleep were still in his system, and the faces around him were slightly blurry.

“But we’re still going to talk about those half star deductions,” Castiel said as he laid out the reviews in front of him. “I fully expect it was just opening night nerves, but if there’s anything else you want to discuss, please bring it up now. I’ll go around the table now.”

Dean was twisting up a straw wrapper over and over; he wasn’t even sure where it came from - perhaps Sam’s smoothie, or Bobby’s orange juice.

“Dean?” Castiel prompted. “You’re first.”

He set down the little triangle of paper and straightened in his chair, feeling suddenly emboldened by the good news. “Uh, yeah. The lights were a lot brighter than I expected. Right in the eyes, so it threw me off a little. Bobby, any chance I could just shift my chair a little about 20 degrees so I’m not looking right into them?”

Dean knew full well that was not Bobby’s call at all, but he could hardly say _as in, not looking at that fucking counter?_ to Castiel, who stiffened a little at the words. Dean couldn’t bring himself to look him in the eye after challenging him like that, no matter how brave he felt suddenly.

“No,” Castiel said after Bobby silently deferred to him. “Bobby, take note of that and have it dimmed just right. We’ll check it in New York tomorrow. Anything else, Dean?”

Castiel’s tone was tight, and Dean knew he was already walking a fine line, so he shook his head. The rest of the meeting continued while Dean barely listened and picked at his food, even ignoring the few times Sam nudged him with his knee to get him to pay attention. 

His ears did perk up when Castiel asked Chuck to give a recap of what was being said on social media. The man loved his social media, as everyone knew, and he delighted in first presenting at least ten minutes of analytics on the subject, which made Dean almost want to cry in boredom by the time he got to the actual comments. Just as he started to read them out, he paused and glanced at Dean worriedly, then forged ahead.

“The biggest mention was Dean dropping his bow, which I think we can all understand. You just don’t see that very often, so-”

“It was an accident,” Dean blurted without even meaning to.

“We know,” Castiel replied calmly. “No one accused you of doing it on purpose. Continue, Chuck.”

“The second biggest mention was...well, commentary on Sam’s beautiful hair,” Chuck teased. “Apparently all the ladies were very charmed by it.”

Sam snorted a little, and everyone around the table grinned a little. Except Dean.

“The third most mentioned was how good Castiel’s original music is, and favorable comparisons to Phillip Glass. After that, several complaints about how long intermission was, but-”

“I told you I was fine,” Dean interrupted hotly. “You should’ve listened to me.”

Chuck paused to glance at Castiel, who merely nodded, then kept going. “The last one seems a little petty, but…”

“But what?” Castiel prompted. 

“Um. I don’t know if this is fair. Lots of mentions of Dean’s, um, police record.”

Dean set down his spoon hard. “What did you expect? I’m surprised that only came in fifth! Are we done yet?”

Castiel stood up abruptly. “Dean, I want to talk to you for a second. Come with me into the hallway.”

He stared down Dean, who appeared about to refuse, then nodded when he stood up and followed him into the corridor of the hotel’s meeting space, which was thankfully empty.

“Can I go, please? This is torture,” Dean complained bitterly the second the door had shut.

“Torture? I don’t understand.”

“What the fuck is this, an intervention? I told you I wasn’t right for this shit! I want to go home.”

Castiel sighed, then crossed his arms. His tone was extremely gentle, despite his fierce expression. “Dean, you did an outstanding job last night. I’m impressed, and I’m proud of you. Everyone is.”

Dean felt his eyes stinging with tears. “Is that a joke, or something?”

“No. If I didn’t know better, I’d think your reaction is the joke. You’re not listening to what’s being said, at all.”

“Oh I’m hearing it, loud and clear. Trust me.”

“Calm down. Hearing it is not the same as listening to it. You warned me from the beginning of our working relationship that you’re not able to accept criticism, so this doesn’t really surprise me. What _does_ surprise me is how you’re turning actual praise into imaginary criticism. Dropping your bow? Not a criticism. Fact. Your criminal history? Fact, again not a criticism. You got sick during intermission; not a criticism there, either.  Has anyone actually said anything bad about your performance last night, subjectively speaking?”

“Yeah, you did. Said I was inattentive during the second half.”

Castiel took a deep breath. “You were, because you weren’t feeling well. That isn’t a reflection on-”

“Don’t baby me, sir. Can I go now?”

Castiel looked as if was about to say yes, and Dean’s heart lifted a little, but in vain.

“No. You’re going right back in there, you’re going to apologize to Chuck for interrupting him twice, and then you’re going to actually join in the conversation instead of sitting there with your arms crossed looking like an emo teenager in church. Are we clear?”

“I don’t need to be here for this!” Dean protested as he flailed his arms around. “You know how I feel about being analyzed, or whatever. I just....”

“Welcome to my world, Dean, don’t go preaching to the choir. This is your first concert. I’ve been doing this for twenty-five years, and I don’t like it either, but it’s part of the game. You’re going to have to get used to it, or it’s going to break you. I’ve warned you countless times that it wasn’t going to be easy and you assured me you were up to the task. But your behavior this morning is absolutely atrocious and I won’t put up with it for even one more second. Are we clear?”

The two big drops of tears that had been balance precariously on Dean’s eyelids broke free at last, and he stepped away to wipe his sleeve across his eyes.

“Alright. I don’t think this is really about accepting criticism, Dean,” Castiel remarked quietly. “I think this is about accepting praise. To be honest, I’m not sure which one is the bigger problem to solve.”

Dean nodded, then looked away and wiped his eyes again, but he said nothing. Castiel was certain he’d never seen a more miserable human being in his life.

“May I assume this little breakdown is also a result of you having to wait so long to be caned?”

Dean nodded again. “I told you. You gotta do it like, right away, or... _this_ happens. Dad never made me wait, he wasn’t that cruel.”

“Lesson learned, and I will take your concerns into consideration in the future. My apologies. We’re going to go back to this meeting now. Are you going to pull it together?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

Castiel stepped forward and steadied his voice again. “By the way, this conversation stays between us. Unless you share it with Sam, of course.”

“I won’t.”

“Up to you. At any rate, I want you to call your therapist today and have a good chat. You need it.”

“Yes, sir. I’m….I’m sorry for being such a basket case.”

Castiel looked at him worriedly. “I don’t want an apology. I want a promise that you’re going to figure out a way to get through this next seven months.”

Dean looked a little startled. “Seven months? So...you’re keeping me, huh?”

“After last night? Absolutely, and I decided that long before the reviewers had anything to say about it. Come on, let’s get back to the meeting and then go have a coffee before we get on the bus. I want to give you some tips on what to do in New York tomorrow.”

Dean wiped his nose and smiled a little, his heart suddenly much lighter. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

\----------------------

“Hold still, Dean.”

“Ow, sorry. Trying,” Dean hissed through his teeth as he rested his sweaty forehead on his wrists. 

_Two._

“ _Owww_ , fuck.”

“I’m not even going that hard,” Castiel remarked mildly. “Do you need me to stop?”

“No, sir. Sorry, please just get it over with.” Dean shifted his legs a little closer together and braced for the third stripe, which came down seconds later. It clashed fiercely with the existing welts from two days ago, but he forced himself to stay as still as a statue even as snot dripped from his nose from the effort of forcing his tears back.

Then there was silence and stillness as he caught his breath and fought to slow down his heart rate. Castiel said nothing; as usual he waited and didn’t rush Dean along until he was ready. If he didn’t know better, Dean would think he was in the room by himself all of a sudden. He eventually peeked over his shoulder and met Castiel’s placid gaze.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he mumbled into his sleeve.

“Forgiven. Feel better now?”

Dean almost laughed just from the absurdity of the situation. “Not physically, no, but…”

“We’re still within the 24 hours that you can change your mind,” Castiel remarked quietly. “I must admit I’m nearly about to change mine. This isn’t normal for me, Dean, and it doesn’t feel right. I’ve never punished a musician for anything that occurred during a concert. And if it doesn’t help you immensely as you promised it would, we’re not doing this anymore except for other serious infractions, as before.”

Dean was a little lightheaded suddenly, so he rested his chin on his chest and closed his eyes. Silence again. Dean tried to think about something else, anything else, to keep his mind off of this immediate situation, but was surprised to find he couldn’t break away from it at all. The only thing that was running through his mind was that, for better or worse, at least now he had paid for his mistakes and could move on. It was a relief. A major, unexpected relief.

_Do I..do I actually...I feel better?? I feel...good? What is this shit._

“Do you need to sit down?” Castiel prompted eventually.

Now Dean did laugh. “Uh, no. Pretty much the last thing I want right now. Thanks, though.”

“Take your time. But since I have you in this, uh, captive state, I want to reiterate how well you did last night despite these three mistakes. I hope that now you’ve gotten those out of your system, you can dump the guilt and move on to accepting the compliments you deserve.”

Dean said nothing.

“Furthermore, I want to know if having that counter in front of you made any difference. I’m guessing it didn’t, since you tried to get Bobby to-”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. Um, sir? You never...uh, you never said anything about me running off yesterday and leaving Sam in the lurch. I know how pissed you were, and rightfully so. I want to apologize for that as well.”

“Apology accepted, but you only brought that up in order to dodge my question. Did that counter help you, or make things worse?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Dean replied truthfully as he stood upright and turned around, slowly. There was no denying, though, that his mind had cleared, and somehow his heart felt less heavy. The guilt was gone. Just like it always had vanished after dad spanked him as a kid. 

“I’m fine, sir. I mean it. So...I did good last night, huh?”

“Very much so. I’m proud of you. You can go now, if you wish.”

Dean went, and didn’t even notice himself smiling during the elevator ride to his floor.


	110. Chapter 110

It took all of fifteen minutes for Dean to deeply regret having aggressively claimed the very last row of the charter bus to New York. The long, sleek motorcoach swayed terribly as it curved through Washington DC traffic, and the bumps and drops of the multitude of potholes were all the more magnified by the momentum that gathered in the rear as the bus picked up speed. By the time the behemoth pulled onto interstate 495, he was thoroughly green and dangerously on the verge of throwing up his fruit and yogurt.

He was stubborn, though, and didn’t move despite that. There was nowhere to go, anyway. Bobby was claiming the section in front of him, but they weren’t on speaking terms at the moment after Dean had hot-headedly barked at him back at the hotel to lay off, after needlessly and rudely pointing out that he wasn’t his father. 

The next section was claimed by Sam, who was busy stalking social media on his laptop and screenshotting every compliment about himself and posting them along with approximately a million photos of the evening to Facebook. Dean didn’t need that right now; he wanted no reminder of the fact that less desirable things were being said about him instead and that his brother had claimed all the glory for the evening.

Chuck was asleep further up; Dean wouldn’t have sat next to him for anything in the world so that option was out. Then Gabriel and Michael, deep in quiet discussion across the aisles, and finally Castiel far up at the very front, several rows from his brothers. He wasn’t doing anything but watching the scenery from what Dean could tell from his distant, lonely position, but it’s possible he was asleep against the glass, perhaps. 

The buzz of air conditioning from the ceiling and engine vibrations from the floor was making Dean slightly sleepy despite his nausea; he crossed his arms again and shifted his position to take some of the pressure off his still-burning backside, then pulled his jean jacket up over his face. If he was going to fall asleep, it wasn’t going to be with his mouth hanging wide open so that everyone who came back to use the bathroom could see him drooling on himself. He vaguely heard Sam laughing, but with whom he had no idea, then the laugh got louder and it was clear he was making his way back towards his older brother.

“Dean? Dean.”

“Whaddya want, Sammy. Sleeping,” Dean faked with a slur.

Sam was carrying his tablet, and he shoved his brother’s legs off the aisle seat and sat down on it with a thud. The movement caused a bolt of pain to shoot through Dean’s torso, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself not to make any sign of discomfort.

“Shut up, you’re not sleeping. So get this. We have fangirls.”

“We...what?”

“You heard me.” Sam was grinning. “ _Fangirls._ For real. Check it out.”

Dean wanted to utter a no, or a “go away,” but his sudden, intense curiosity got the best of him so he pulled the jacket off his face and wrenched an arm out from underneath him, bringing the proffered iPad closer to his face.

“What am I looking at?” he grumbled.

“This whole thread on Twitter is a bunch of ladies arguing about which one of us is cuter.”

“Then I’m winning, obviously.”

“Not according to the official poll. Apparently my shiny long locks trump your fine, tight ass. At least for now.”

Dean sat all the way up at that, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Shut up. What’s this? Is that my…that’s a picture of my ass. That’s us boarding the bus this morning.”

“Yup. Some enterprising young thing with a zoom lens didn’t throw away her shot, and now it’s all over Twitter. Here’s the one of me.”

Dean peered at the candid shot of Sam’s hair blowing in the wind like a clichéd shampoo commercial, which made him laugh aloud. “You’re so hot, Sammy. Damn. You make me moist.”

“Shut up, perv,” Sam shot back with a pleased grin. 

“So what’s this poll thing,” Dean asked with amusement as he ripped open a vacuum-sealed package of beef jerky with his teeth. “Obviously you’ve been voting for yourself over and over, cuz there’s no other explanation as to why I’m losing.”

“Nah, you can only vote once. And of course I voted for myself. So even though it says I’m ahead by 120, it’s really only 119.”

Dean froze. “120? _One hundred and twenty_?”

“Yeah I know, it’s not a lot. But it’s still funny. I thought you’d get a kick out of it.”

“So...wait, like 200 people have seen that picture of my ass, then?”

“Relax, it’s not like you were naked. Them some fine jeans, though.” Sam did a wolf whistle, then clicked on the tweet and opened it. “It has almost four thousand votes at the moment. Hashtag IdStrumThat.”

“I’d _strum_ that? You don’t strum a violin. How did this poll even happen?”

Sam laughed again. “No idea, it just kind of took off after the Rolling Stone review of our concert came out a couple hours ago.”

Dean suddenly felt twice as nauseated as he had before, and he fought it down valiantly as he noticed Castiel standing up and stretching in the front row.

“Oh come on. You’re making this up. Teenybopper girls don’t read Rolling Stone.”

“Grown women do, Dean. Horny cougars, most of them, from the looks of their profiles. I never said they were _little_ girls.”

“You said fangirls!”

“Yeah, well...fanwomen, then. Whatever.”

“Cas is coming,” Dean said quickly.

“Gentlemen.”

“Yes, sir,” they both replied together, looking up at him with identical serious expressions. 

“It’s 11:30am and neither of you have completed your post-concert reports yet. They’re due at noon the next day after every concert, as you know.”

“Yes, sir,” they both said together, again.

“Sorry, I’m about 75% done,” Sam added. “I’ll have it to you on time.”

Dean hadn’t even started his, but he wasn’t about to admit that. He had legitimately forgotten all about it, despite multiple automatic reminders in his email over the last 12 hours.

“Mine will be on time as well, sir,” he said carefully, as if he was just as responsible as his younger brother. 

“You don’t look well,” Castiel observed as he watched Dean’s face. “Motion sick?”

Dean almost refuted that guess just to preserve his dignity, then instantly realized admitting it might help buy him more time to do his “homework.” 

“Yeah. Yes, sir. Guess I shouldn’t have been so quick to claim the back for myself.” He writhed around a little in discomfort as the bus hit another something in the road.

Castiel nodded. “You’ll be happy to know we’re going to pull over to the visitor center in a minute, then.”

“Great, thanks.”

He walked away as Dean glanced at Sam. “75% done? How long did that take you?”

“Like half an hour. Don’t even tell me you haven’t started yet.”

“I haven’t,” Dean admitted.

“Dude. I type like three times as fast as you do. You’re so dead.”

“Oh, fuck.” Dean tilted his head back and closed his eyes against another bout of intense nausea. He couldn’t decide whether or not to care what Castiel would have to say, but a few moments later he jumped up and yanked his laptop out of the overhead bin.

\-------------------------------------------

The decision on whether to send the report on time but half-finished, or late but finished, wrecked Dean for the final five minutes of his deadline. He felt much better now at least, and the visitor center’s wifi was fast in helping complete the forms, but the problem was that he wasn’t fast enough. He was sitting at a picnic table with his laptop as everyone else sat inside eating and talking, writing and clicking as fast as he could.

There was one question he was completely stuck on for several minutes, and he couldn’t continue without answering it:

_Describe in at least one hundred words how your actual performance compared to your pre-concert expectations._

The entire artistic team would probably read these answers. Dean couldn’t write that he expected to fail because Castiel expected him to fail. Talk about throwing your boss under the bus. Speaking of which, Dean straightened up and gulped as Castiel suddenly exited the visitor center’s back door and headed straight for him.

“Dean? We’re leaving soon. You need to eat.”

“I’m finishing this report, sir,” Dean said a little desperately. “It…”

“It’s already late,” Castiel said flatly. “Complete it on the bus and we’ll talk about it later. Go eat.”

_Fuck._

“How honest am I supposed to be?” Dean blurted out quickly, before he lost his chance. “Everything I say just sounds like I’m writing a media statement.”

“Then you’re doing it wrong.”

Dean gulped. “If I do it right, you’re going to hate me.”

Castiel cocked his head a little at that, and Dean could swear he actually looked...hurt?

“Do it right,” he finally said. “Say what you need to say, and don’t be passive aggressive about it. You want to fix this mess between us? Start being honest for a change.”

_Wow. Okay, then…_

“So...you actually want me to say that I...that you destroyed my self-confidence four hours before the concert, so my expectations were so low that absolutely nothing could possibly meet them? What’s the point of this, anyway? Won’t anything I say be used against me? Do I have the right to remain silent?”

Castiel looked like he was counting in order to not explode, and Dean instantly regretted his unwarranted hostility. Cas' reply was gentle, though, much to Dean’s surprise. 

“Only Bobby reads the reports, Dean. I regret not mentioning that to you beforehand.”

“He...oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know that.”

“Yes. If he finds anything in them that needs to be brought to my attention, he’ll do it tactfully and anonymously. Or he’ll address it with you directly, if you request it. We actually have a confidentiality agreement in place about those reports. I count on my artistic directors to handle most conflicts themselves so that I can focus solely on my music and be free of distraction. Again, I should have told you this before. So trust me when I say you need to be 100% honest.”

“Um. So yeah, this one’s late. I’m only half done.” Dean’s ass clenched in dreadful anticipation, and he slapped away a mosquito off his arm before asking the question. “Are you going to…”

“Yes, I am. Just one, at a time of your choosing within 24 hours. That goes for every time it’s late. Sam’s, too. But you already knew that.”

Dean’s heart fell a little, but he couldn’t be mad; he knew the rules and had agreed to them. Castiel was absolutely within his rights, and probably wouldn’t even ask for Dean’s consent.

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

Castiel nodded, but his face was blank. “Go eat. Something healthy, and drink water.”

Dean wanted to ask why he let Sam eat and drink whatever he wanted, but didn’t feel emboldened on that point at the moment. He felt like he had used up all his bravado today already.

“Yes, sir. Um...one more question?”

“Yes?”

“Are you, um, aware that Sam and I have fangirls now?”

“Of course. Does that bother you?”

“Not really,” Dean lied. Then he remembered Castiel’s demand about honesty. “Actually, yeah.”

Castiel nodded knowingly. “I would suggest you embrace them while you can. Once they’re gone, you’ll really miss them. Food, Dean.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dean went inside and got a salad and a half-panini, but when Castiel wasn’t looking, he silently slipped them uneaten into a trash can before reboarding the bus and patting his pocket to make sure the bottle of Virginia whiskey he’d just bought in the gift shop wasn’t visible.


	111. Chapter 111

_...waltzing effortlessly through Pagannini’s notorious arpeggios with the ease of a seasoned veteran, yet somehow maintaining a delightful thrill of freshness and naive passion…_

What the hell is ‘naive passion?’

_...started off stiffly after his unfortunate bow-dropping moment, but recovered admirably and later appreciably refrained from over-playing the obnoxiously showy second credenza, which is something I have not yet witnessed even in the greatest of talent…_

He must not have really seen the greatest of talent yet.

_...whether his more subdued nature of the second half of the program was due to nerves can be debated, but if not, there is something uniquely refreshing about the elder Winchester’s willingness to all but fade out in favor of briefly allowing an interesting harmony to shine..._

Unintentional. Definitely nerves. 

_...even the masters could learn from this performance, in which Novak’s restrained direction for his violinist is to be sincerely commended…_

Restrained? Cas? LOL

_...then again, one could argue that Winchester’s dubious background perhaps set him up to succeed, for he set our expectations so very low to begin with that even a 3rd rate high school performance would have impressed Mozart himself..._

Ah, there it is...

_...Whether or not this tour itself actually succeeds rests squarely on this volatile young man’s shoulders, and some less than impressive playing at times proved how heavy that crown really is. I am not convinced he has the maturity to carry it off yet, if at all. Castiel Novak might need to take him to task after tonight to up his game and start playing in the big leagues..._

Dean shakily set down the iPad as his brother re-emerged from the restroom of the restaurant they were currently enjoying in Downtown Manhattan.

“Hey,” he said hoarsely as Sam flopped into the booth like a toddler. “Can we go?”

“Dude, no. I wanna order the turtle cheesecake, it’s like world famous. What’s wrong?”

Dean didn’t answer and pulled out his phone, which had buzzed three times while he had been reading with a text from Castiel.

_\- Chuck tells me you haven’t posted on Instagram in ten days. This is in clear violation of our agreement. Please let me know if he’s mistaken_

“I read the reviews, that’s what’s wrong,” Dean mumbled to his brother.

Sam shrugged. “Like I said: we could get 999 compliments and one criticism, and you’ll obsess about only that one until you’re on your deathbed. I thought Cas ordered you not to read them?”

“It was more of a very strong recommendation.” Dean glanced at Sam’s iPad meaningfully. “You were in the bathroom for so long. I got bored.”

“So you went through my emails? Seriously? Shit, Dean. Now he’s gonna think I let you read them and take it out on me. You better not say anything to him.”

“I won’t. Change your passcode, by the way.” Dean reluctantly picked his phone back up and replied to Castiel:

_-Correct. Add it to my bill_

 He hit send but instantly regretted it enormously, and quickly sent another message to cover his ass.

_-Sorry, wrong text thread_

 “Who are you messaging?” Sam asked in annoyance. “This is our free time.”

“One sec.”

_-Doing it now. Sorry._

  * _Dean, you don’t have to reply to me on your free time unless it’s an emergency_



_-Well you made it sound like a national crisis_

 "Dean.”

“Sorry. I’m done.” Dean was getting a headache from his increasing crankiness.

“What are you moping about? You were the freakin’ star of the show. I was barely even mentioned. Hell, even Cas himself was mostly glossed over, for that matter. Pretty soon we’ll be your opening act.”

Dean took another drink of his coke. “Get yourselves a criminal record and then we’ll be square. I’m gonna order a drink. Where the fuck is our waiter?”

“Shhhh!” Sam insisted, coloring with embarrassment. Dean had an unsettling tendency to swear loudly in fancy places, which never failed to irk his brother.

“Sammy, I gotta go. I’m sorry.” He reached into his wallet and yanked out his Visa, ignoring Sam’s protests. “Just put it on my card. Have your cheesecake. I’ll see you back at the hotel.”

“Wait. Just, I’ll forget the dessert-”

Dean was out of the booth and heading for the door before Sam could stop him and stormed through the exit to find something to instagram before heading back to the hotel. He angrily snapped a quick photo of a discarded, used condom on a park bench and posted it with the caption “Live From New York...” then headed directly into a noisy club and ordered a Jack & Coke at the bar.

\-----------

“You have a hangover, don’t you.” 

Dean groaned as he turned around in his bed and pulled his pillow over his head. “Day off. Leave me alone.”

Sam’s noisy, stomping footsteps across the tiled floor made Dean’s head pulse in agony. Sam set his phone down on the nightstand with a loud thunk that sent a painful sharp pain through one of Dean’s ears and out the other. “We need to talk. You’re such a fucking irredeemable idiot sometimes, you know that?”

Dean’s throat felt like it was sunburned. “Only sometimes?”

Sam raised his voice. “Cas gave me a heads up last night after you stormed out and told me to watch your Insta for some dumbshit photo op.”

“Talking too loud.”

“So I guessed your password and logged in and deleted the condom one and then posted something _not_ obscenely offensive on your behalf. So he’s happy now and none the wiser.”

Dean buried his face again. “Mhmph.”

“You’re welcome. I also told him you were in the shower when he called at 9:05 to see if we were back. Hope nobody saw you come stumbling back into the hotel hours later because then my ass is grass, too.” 

“Go away.”

“I can’t keep lying for you, Dean. I won’t. Grow the fuck up.”

\----

Dean was fully restored the next morning as the contingent boarded the mini-van bound for a local high school in the poorest district of town. Castiel sat in the front passenger seat, of course, and Dean was diagonal to him; he would have preferred to hide in the back but Sam beat him to it. The car was quiet until about halfway through the trip, when Castiel turned around and asked Dean where he had taken the Instagram photo.

“Oh. Um.” He wanted to look at Sam for confirmation but couldn’t, of course. _Shit._ “Just right down the street from where we ate.”

“It was a really good photo. Nice job.”

“Thank you, sir. I try, even if not on a timely basis.”

“Must admit I never pinned you as a dog lover before.”

Dean smiled to himself. Of course Sam would take a picture of a random dog on the street, because he was Sam. “I’m not, but this one was too cute to resist. Very friendly, a bit hyper though.”

There was a sudden deadly silence in the car, and Dean suddenly had the overwhelming, alarming sensation that he had just given away a state secret in a room full of Russian spies.

Then Castiel’s strangled tone. “I see. Sam, we’ll talk later.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam replied quietly from the back seat.

Dean sighed and leaned against the window with his eyes closed. What had he fucked up now?

\------------

“What the hell was _that_?” Dean hissed to Sam as they fell behind the group while walking down the main building of the Bronx high school where they would be performing in less than an hour for the students of the music magnet.

“Don’t fucking talk to me right now,” Sam hissed back.

“Sam-” Dean started to respond, but he was set aback by the startingly furious expression on his brother’s face.

“Now he knows I posted that pic to cover your ass! Thanks a lot.”

“What? How?”

“The ‘friendly hyper dog” you mentioned was a quote about dogs carved into a gravestone at Trinity Church, you dumbass. No actual dog. Didn’t you even look at what I posted?”

“Oh my god,” Dean moaned. Castiel was looking back at them now, probably two seconds away from yelling at them to hurry and catch up. They picked up their pace hastily in order to avoid making his temper worse, if possible.

“I’m so sorry, Sam,” Dean said quickly. “I’ll take full responsibility. Don’t worry.”

“I can handle him. Can you handle yourself? That’s what I really want to know.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean repeated. “Fuck, man. I can’t do anything right.”

Sam sighed irritably. “Except, you know, blow away a sold-out house at the Kennedy Center and win rave reviews and not even a single complaint from our boss, who’s a fucking legend by the way in case you forgot. But that doesn’t matter, does it? No big deal, that pales in comparison to how difficult it is to put up one fucking decent picture on Instagram.”

“Keep your voice down,” Dean snapped.

This is bullshit,” Sam continued, louder, and they both stopped in their tracks as Castiel turned abruptly around and headed right for them.

“That’s enough,” he growled as he arrived in front of them. “One more word and we’re going to be revisiting your contracts in the morning to review my options for dealing with your nonsense. Do you understand me?”

 _Oh fuck,_ Dean breathed. He had never seen Castiel this angry, even after everything they’d put him through over the past five months. Even Sam looked thoroughly rattled.

“Yes, sir,” they said together, numbly. 

“I’m only going to say this once,” Castiel continued, his voice quiet but teetering on the edge of an unprecedented explosion. “While you're on the clock, you are required to behave exactly as you agreed in your codes of conduct. Save the soap opera dramatics for your free time. Are we clear?”

The brothers, now thoroughly chastised into a sense of deep shame, nodded together and quickly agreed..

“Bitch,” mumbled Dean shakily once Castiel was a safe distance away.

Sam just looked at him aghast and shook his head, then stalked away to follow the group.

\-------------

The trio played in the school auditorium for half an hour to a predictably fidgety teenage audience, but at least Castiel had enough experience with this that he only chose music the students would definitely know. Afterwards, Dean was taken into an empty classroom, where he was soon joined by all the violin and viola players in the school. Sam was next door with the cello and bass players, while Castiel remained in the auditorium to speak with all the band musicans and drummers.

Dean had given clinics before, of course, at the Novak Arts Center. He felt completely at ease with this group, although soon discovered they were economically of a completely different class than those found back at home. Dean noted with a heavy heart that most of their instruments were in barely playable condition, which the cute young teachers seemed thoroughly embarrassed about. 

“I can’t believe Castiel Novak is here,” one of them had said with a blush, while the other tittered a little. “Do you think we can get a selfie with him?”

Dean couldn’t resist winking at them and flirting just a little. What would it hurt? “Probably not. He’s shy. Especially around such beautiful ladies.”

They both looked at him blankly, and he cleared his throat to cover the awkward moment of silence. “Sorry. Let’s get started.”

\---

The hour flew by too quickly. Dean was absolutely one hundred percent in his element, in his zone of comfort teaching music, and he deeply regretted having to end the clinic. He was helping a sweet 9th grader when he noticed that Chuck had come in to get him, but he ignored the silent summons and kept going.

“You should really play with a shoulder rest, Amanda. Do you prefer not to?”

She looked up at him, eyes wide. “No, I…I want one.”

“Oh.” She was obviously trying to avoid saying it wasn’t in the budget, so Dean turned around to Chuck and snapped, “Go get my shoulder rest out of my violin case.”

Then he turned back to the girl. “Play for me. Don’t worry about everyone else, just play for me.”

“I’m nervous,” she stammered, and Dean patted her shoulder soothingly.

“It’s just you and me.” He heard someone giggle in the corner and looked sharply over and used what he always imagined would be his dad voice, if he ever had children. “Hey. What’s going on back there?”

The room went silent instantly, and he turned back around.. “Play, Amanda. It’s just you and me.”

Amanda, the poor girl, played her heart out for about thirty seconds. She was absolutely terrible, and Dean had no intention of faking that it was great. Teenagers, he knew, could see through lies better than an FBI interrogator.

“It was so bad,” she moaned.

“How long have you been playing?”

“This is my third year.” Her eyes went moist.

Dean smiled encouragingly, and raised his voice slightly to make sure the rest of the classroom heard. “Okay. Since no one is born a musician, we all have to work hard at it if we want to be good. Do you practice like your teachers tell you to?”

“Yeah.”

Dean raised an eyebrow.

“I mean,” she amended, “um.”

“I thought so. Alright, sweetie.” Dean patted her shoulder, then turned to the rest of the class. “When’s your last day of school?”

“June 10,” some of them shouted out, and Dean quickly did the math. That was just past the end of the tour. Perfect.

“Alright. Then I’m gonna come see you guys again in 8 months before you go to summer vacation. Sam, too - he’s my brother who was playing the cello. I want you all to practice hard, and do what your teachers tell you, and if you do that, then I wanna play with you guys in a concert for your parents and we’ll make a big party of it and have a lot of fun. Does that sound good?”

The classroom lit up like a bonfire of joy. Dean grinned as all the kids reacted exactly as he was hoping; he even noticed the teachers swooning out of the corner of his eye. At that moment Chuck returned with the shoulder rest, which Dean took and handed to Amanda. “I’ll see you in June, okay? Practice. There’s no other way to sound good, and believe me, I’ve tried them all.”

She nodded shyly, and Dean smiled at her disarmingly again. “Don’t lose that. It’s my lucky charm. Had it since I was your age.”

“We have to go, Dean,” said Chuck irritably.

“Okay, kiddos,” Dean announced to everybody. “I’m gonna call your teacher at the end of May and get an update on whether or not you’ve been practicing like you agreed to do just now. If she says yes, we’ll have a party concert. I’ve gotta go now, but-”

He grinned again as the teenagers shouted “bye Dean” and “thank you” and “see you soon” all over each other. It was positively blissful; there was no place in the world Dean wanted to be right now except right here, but….

“Dean.”

“Coming. Thanks ladies,” he said to the teachers with a wink. Then he followed Chuck out into the cold grey hallway. Against his will he found the rare glow of total happiness escaping rapidly from his grasp; it was all but a distant memory by the time they reached the minivan and climbed in to join Castiel and Sam.

“Dean?” Castiel asked quietly.

“Yes, sir,” Dean nearly barked.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I...I’ll need a new shoulder rest before tonight. Can we stop at a music store?”

“What happened to yours?”

Dean looked up at him with moist eyes. “Can we stop at a music store, please?” he repeated in a harder tone without answering the question.

Castiel looked at the driver and nodded, and the van quietly pulled away from the school and crawled back into traffic.

\--------------

Castiel followed Dean into the musical instruments shop that had taken them absolutely forever to get to, while the rest of the group waited in obvious annoyance in the car.

“I can get it myself,” he muttered defensively as his boss opened the door for him to the shop.

“Dean, stop for a second.” Castiel reached out and gently pulled his angry young charge by the arm to the side of the large entryway past the front door.

“Let go. I’m sorry I made us leave late and stop here, okay? Don’t give me a hard time right now.”

Castiel looked shocked. “Be quiet for a second.”

Dean looked up, confused, but silent.

Castiel pulled out a sheet of paper from his pocket. “This is a wishlist I obtained while I was waiting for you. It shows everything the music department needs fixed, or doesn’t have at all.”

“Oh…”

“They’ll get what they need. So will all the rest of the schools on this tour. So calm down.”

Dean blushed. “I’m so sorry, sir. Didn’t mean to bark at you. I didn’t know.”

“Nobody does, except for my accountant and my personal assistant. So keep it between us, please.”

Dean’s eyes went wide. “I…”

“Go, Dean.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry.”

\------------------

Castiel was in a terrible mood pre-concert, strict and unyeilding and tyrannical. Dean was just thoroughly done with him, and earned himself a stripe before the concert even started for telling his boss to ‘calm the fuck down’ in the heat of the moment. Then he got a second one for saying it again less than five minutes later. Castiel dared him to go for a third, and the offer was almost taken up, but Michael thankfully stepped in as a distraction. Dean went to wait quietly in the wings with Sam for their spotlight cue, trembling in anger and anxiety the whole time.


	112. Chapter 112

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE NOTE! Two chapters posted right after the other, please check previous chapter to make sure you read it.
> 
> Another note: yes, this chapter is very dark. I want to assure you that it doesn't stay like this much longer. Lessons are learned, relationships repaired. So please don't leave me, thanks :)

Dean was remarkably settled during the concert despite his intense, fierce dislike for Castiel all of a sudden, but somehow the sharply pointed anger helped him focus better. He didn’t pay attention to the counter at all, however, and was astonished to see the number 4 on the little screen at intermission. He certainly didn’t remember making four mistakes - two, certainly - but his curiosity would have to keep for now. He darted offstage and disappeared into the restroom even before Castiel had stood up from his piano, and splashed enough cold water on his face to re-hydrate a beached whale. When he began drying himself off he realized Sam was standing just on the other side of the door.

“You okay, Dean?”

“Yeah. Come in."

Sam stepped in and closed the door behind him. “I think Cas is really pissed at you.”

“What else is new.”

“I mean, like, maybe you should go say something to him. Like right now.”

“What would I say?” Dean threw his paper towels into the trash. “It’s not going to make a difference. He’s a colossal asshole, Sam. Not to mention he doesn’t even allow us to talk to him when we’re performing because he’s better than us, or some shit. Fucking superiority complex.”

“Calm down,” Sam said soothingly.

“He’s going to cane me, Sam! How am I supposed to be calm?”

Sam shrugged. “Do you blame him, though? I mean-”

“What? Sam!” Dean was scandalized.

Sam cleared his throat. “You told him to _calm the fuck down_. Twice. In front of everybody! I’m surprised he didn’t cane you right then and there.”

Dean was staring open-mouthed at his brother.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Sam said bitterly. “You know what? Good. You deserve it. Sorry Dean, but it’s true. You know how much pressure he’s under. That was messed up, man. For real. Hate me if you want, but-”

“I don’t hate you, Sammy. But what the actual fuck?” Dean huffed.

“Go apologize to him.”

“No.”

“Dean-”

Dean pushed past Sam and barrelled into the corridor. Bobby and Gabriel were there, leaning against a wall with their arms crossed, talking quietly among themselves. Dean started to go over to them, but was quickly intercepted by Chuck.

“Castiel wants to see you. Right now.”

“Oh I’m sure he does. Not interested. Tell him to fuck off.”

Bobby perked his head up at that and took a few quick steps over to Dean.

“I got this, Chuck. Thanks.”

“I gotta piss,” Dean said as he started to turn around to go back into the bathroom. 

“Bullshit, you just went.” Bobby threw his arm over the door to block it from opening. "Listen up for a second.”

“I don’t have to listen to you.” Dean knew he was out of control now, he knew it a hundred percent, but he couldn’t stop himself for some reason. “Get out of my way.”

Bobby stepped in front of him now, blocking his retreat back onto the stage.

“You actually do have to listen to me. It’s in your contract that you’re required to accept criticism gracefully, so shut the hell up and close your mouth!”

Dean was so surprised at that, he actually obeyed. 

Bobby raised his eyebrows. “Wow, didn’t expect that one to work. Okay. C’mere.”

He walked into a little side room off the hallway and Dean, who was quickly losing steam, followed him in and shut the door.

“I’ve known Cas for more than 25 years and I’m telling you this for your own best interests, and you’d better listen hard. If you don’t apologize to him right now, your relationship will never be the same. Ever. He will cut you out like a tumor, you understand me?”

Dean took ten breaths in order to calm himself before he responded.

“He was such a dick, though,” he finally said, lamely.

“Yup. That’s Cas, take it or leave it. When he gets under stress he falls apart at the seams. Just like you do, just in a different way. Except he’s the one in power, so it’s more acceptable than you doing it.”

Dean cocked his head. “Yeah. Exactly. But that doesn’t make it right.”

“Never said it did. You’re both huge idjits under pressure. But guess who has to be the one to apologize, because you’re the employee? Sorry kiddo, that’s just the reality.”

There was a knock on the door, and they both jumped. 

“It can’t be five minutes already,” Dean said as Bobby opened the door. It was Castiel, and Dean suddenly felt as cornered as a fox in a hunt. 

“Thank you, Bobby,” was all Castiel needed to say before Dean found himself alone with his boss in the little room that couldn’t have been more than nine feet square. It was dead silent; Dean idly guessed the door must be several inches thick to contend with all the noise in the hallway.

“Dean.”

Dean found he could not speak; he suddenly felt so overwhelmingly intimidated that he _forgot how to English_ , as his fifth graders liked to say.

“Uh...I...”

“Don’t say anything. I only came to tell you that finishing this concert without either one of us killing each other is the _only_ priority right now. We can’t afford to think about anything else, it can keep. Do you agree?”

Dean nodded, and knew he was horrifically pale just by how cold his hands suddenly felt.

“Good.” Castiel turned to go, but Dean impulsively reached out and grabbed his jacket sleeve.

“Wait. Please.”

Castiel turned back around, his face carefully expressionless. “Yes?”

“Sorry, I…” Dean hastily let go of his jacket. “I can’t do that.”

“You can’t finish the concert?” Castiel went pale now.

“No, not that! I meant...I meant, I can’t wait. We have what, nine minutes? I need to talk this out. Right now, or I’m gonna...” he paused shakily, then the next words came pouring at faster than he could stop them. “Okay, look. I know how much pressure you’re under. Much more than me, I get it. But, dude, you gotta rein it in better than that. You can’t treat us like your indentured servants for the next seven months every time we set foot in a concert hall. This sure is shit ain’t gonna work for me, I’m just gonna lay it out there and say it again. You need to calm the fuck down and stop being a bitch-ass tyrant every time you get nervous. And no, I’m not apologizing for telling the truth that everyone else is afraid to tell you. Ever wonder why you always lose your musicians by the end of the tour? Now you know. This is bullshit.”

Castiel cocked his head slightly and narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.

“I don’t know, fuck,” Dean continued. “Maybe I ought to refer you to my anger management program or something.”

“Right, because that worked so well for you,” Castiel scoffed sarcastically.

“Yeah, it actually did,” Dean huffed. “Otherwise I would’ve broken your fucking nose for the way you treated me and Sam at the Kennedy Center, and again tonight, without a second thought.”

Castiel was silent and inscrutable for a good thirty seconds in which Dean sweated out at least a full bucket while he waited for the inevitable crushing comeback.

But there was nothing.

At all.

Castiel simply shook his head slightly, then turned around and left the room.

Dean slumped down and sat on the floor for a few minutes, willing the color to come back into his face and the blood back into his cold hands. He jumped up as Bobby opened the door and peered in at him.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Time for places. If you need more time, better tell me now.”

Dean took a deep breath and closed his eyes, then counted to thirty like Gabriel had taught him. It still amused him to think how much he had hated that at first, but now he used it all the time.

“Nah. I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

 _Nope. Oh...fuck..._ Dean couldn’t help himself; an enormous crash of grief hit him like a bowling ball to the gut, and he instantly burst into hot tears that had been held back for so long that they could no longer be dammed up anymore.

“Oh shit,” Bobby said to himself as he raced forward to grab Dean. “Sit down, kiddo. I got ya. Come on.”

Dean slid back down to the floor again in the same spot and covered his face with his hands as he silently let loose weeks and months of frustration.

“I’ll get Sam-”

“No!” Dean reached out and grabbed Bobby’s arm. “No.”

“Dean, let go. I’ll be back in a second, I’m just gonna tell Chuck to hold curtain. I won’t say why. _Let go,_  Dean.”

Bobby raced out and returned shortly after words with a roll of paper towels, which he handed to Dean after locking the door behind him.

“Fuck, Bobby. Cas...” Dean hiccuped between two bouts of gushing tears.

“Don’t worry about Cas. He’s a big boy, he’ll be fine. What do you need right now?”

“Nothing,” Dean gasped. “Just. Fuck. A new brain, maybe? I’m so messed up.”

He cried for ten minutes while Bobby watched; he refused to look away because he knew Dean wouldn’t want his pity. 

“Yeah. We’re all messed up. You, Cas, Sam, Chuck. Me. Shit, you ever know anyone who _isn’t_?”

Dean didn’t answer; he ripped another few sheets off the roll of paper towels and wiped his face.

“I have to go b-b-back onstage,” he stuttered. “And then I’m done. I’m out. Fuck this shit.”

“Yeah, you gotta back, and yeah, it’s probably healthier for you to walk away. But first I wanna ask you something. Is this really about Cas?”

“What?” Dean wiped his nose with his expensive suit jacket.

“I’m asking you if this is about Cas. Because I don’t think it is. I think it’s about your dad.”

Dean shrugged. “I really don’t have time to be psychoanalyzed right now, Bobby.”

Bobby backed off, and then finally took Dean’s arm and helped him up once he was ready to get back on his feet.

“I’m such a little bitch,” Dean murmured with a humorless laugh. “Look at me. Shit.”

Bobby didn’t say anything, he just looked at Dean and saw immeasurable depths of loss and helplessness between his reddened green eyes. It physically hurt Bobby’s heart to see him like this, and without even thinking he stepped forward and embraced him in a hug, and held on, fully expecting the eldest son of John Winchester to pull away in disgust and mutter something about chick flick moments.

Dean didn’t move, at first. He seemed confused more than anything. 

But then Bobby felt arms around his waist and a chin resting on his shoulder. Then a few more wracking, heaving sobs from the chest of the grown man John had once soundly spanked at age 6 right in the middle of Bobby’s store for accidentally knocking over a cello. Bobby had felt sorry for him then, and even sorrier now, for there was no damage done whatsoever. But John had not been a kind man, and Castiel’s poor behavior was clearly triggering countless buried memories, probably without Dean even realizing it.

“Kiddo,” he said gently as he reluctantly pried him off a few minutes later. “Dean.”

“You can call me kiddo,” Dean mumbled. “I kinda like it.”

“Me too. Come on, up.”

Dean slowly peeled off and dried his eyes. “I’m ready.”

“Good. Places, then.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dean went out and made his way to his mark just offstage. He knew Castiel was there, too, watching from deeper in the shadows, but he didn’t turn to look. 

Sam reached out and gently squeezed Dean’s hand, as if to ask, _you good_? Dean squeezed back, then nodded and breathed deeply as the curtains opened and the spotlights lit the stage.


	113. Chapter 113

Just as the stage was done lighting up and the applause began, Dean averted his eyes even further as Castiel walked by him to go onstage. But then the footstops stopped, and there was a light touch on his shoulder that made him startle a little and look up into those deep blue eyes.

“Remember to keep your eyes on me for the cues, Dean,” Castiel said in a completely normal, non-angry tone, as if he was asking for the time. “No matter how mad you are at me. We can’t let anything affect our performance.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean replied in a conciliatory tone.

Castiel let his hand linger for a moment longer and looked like he was about to say something else, but then he took it away and was gone. Dean glanced at Sam, who had been watching with wide eyes.

“You okay?” he whispered.

Dean nodded again and gulped, then forced himself to take a step forward as the flashing blue light at their feet cued them to walk in. 

\------

Dean was on fire as the second half of the concert proceeded. Absolutely in flames and blowing it out of the water, and he knew it. It was exhilarating.  _Subdued my ass,_ he thought repeatedly as he launched from one passage to the next with a rare energy he’d never been able to summon at will. It just happened when it happened. Even when his E string popped right in the middle of the climax of Castiel’s original composition, he was completely unflustered. It was not uncommon to break a string, and all three of them had rehearsed for this eventuality. He calmly handed his Guadagnini to Sam and swiftly reached behind him to grab his back-up violin (the one he had bought from Bobby), and kept playing without missing more than two bars.  

Sam’s job was to get up and set the violin on Dean’s stand, which he quickly did, and they went back to business. Dean flattered himself that no one would even know it had happened, had they not been in the audience to witness it themselves. It did also help, though, that Castiel’s part was noisy and busy at the same time as well, otherwise an awkward silence might have ensued.

After the piece was finished Dean might have been overwhelmed by the cheering and clapping and bravos, but he was too busy focusing on Castiel over the top of the piano, who mouthed to him “go ahead” to let him know he could have a minute to change the string, but Dean shook his head. He would continue playing on his cheaper, silver-gilded violin, in order not to break the spell of magic that seemed to be settling over the trio since intermission. 

Castiel nodded back just once, then launched into the next piece. He was on fire, too. 

By the final piece, which was another incredibly difficult composition by Castiel, Dean was getting tired and running out of steam. He forced himself to keep up his energy anyway, and locked his eyes on Castiel like they were a lifeline until the end of the piece.

Dean didn’t register the cheers afterwards. He barely remembered to bow. The shouts of bravo, and calls for an encore, nearly went unheard. His only awareness was his brother tightly gripping his hand at the second round of bows. It was too much for him to take in, even though he knew with absolutely certainty that he had played like his life was on the line and blew his previous performance out of the water in every way possible.

After a few minutes the curtains shut in front of their faces, and Dean just stood there numbly, feeling slightly in shock.

“Holy shit, Dean,” Sam breathed after a few moments.

“Yeah. Fuck,” Dean replied, although he didn’t even notice he was talking.

“They’re still calling for an encore,” Castiel said as Bobby walked out onto the stage. “I don’t ever do encores.”

Bobby was still grinning like a fool. “Well, you might have a riot on your hands if you don’t.”

“What should we play?” Sam asked quickly.

“Nothing. We talked about this.”

The three of them stood there quietly, waiting for the shouts to die down. They didn’t. At all.

Castiel cleared his throat after a minute. “Replace your string, Dean. Quickly.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean replied automatically.

Bobby laughed a little and walked up to take Dean’s place after he had dashed back to his seat. “Alright, then. Guess the mob has spoken. Whaddya gonna play?”

“I honestly don’t know. Any suggestions?”

They fell quiet again as the chats of _Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean_ floated through he curtain.

Sam shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Jesus. It’s like a One Direction concert out there.”

“How’s that string coming?” Castiel called impatiently.

“Tuning now,” Dean replied. “What are we playing?”

“Let’s give it a minute,” Bobby said unhelpfully. “Maybe they’ll give up.”

_Dean. Dean. Dean. Dean._

“I’m done,” Dean finally said. “All good.”

Castiel nodded. “Okay. Come here, please.”

Dean hurried up to him and took a deep breath. “What about the Faure we took out a week ago? We all know that one by heart.”

Castiel shook his head. “I was thinking your Bach partita, actually. Are you up for it?”

“My...what?” Dean asked, his mouth dropping open slightly.

“Your Bach partita. The one you played for me at your audition. You do still remember it, I hope?”

“Of course, but-”

“Sam?” Castiel asked as he turned to his cellist. “Would you be offended if I asked you to-”

“No, sir, not at all. Absolutely not.” Sam was grinning from ear to ear now, too.

Dean’s eyes were wide as everyone turned to look at him at the same time.

“I...holy shit. Are you sure?”

_Dean. Dean. Dean. Dean._

Castiel nodded. “I want you to do this. If you want to, of course.”

“Yeah,” Dean said hoarsely. “Just a sec.” 

He turned back to his chair and picked up his bottle of water, then chugged it all down. 

“Alright,” said Cas. “Bobby, curtains. The three of us are going to take another bow, then Sam and I will exit. Sam, you go stage right and I’ll go left. I don’t want a spotlight on Dean, just a light blue wash on the apron and house lights out. Quickly, Bobby.”

Bobby dashed off to talk to the stage manager, and Castiel turned to Dean again. “Tune that string up again, just in case. Let me hear the first few bars.”

Dean complied instantly, realizing that Castiel was helpfully trying to distract him by keeping him busy before he could think too much about what was going to happen next.

“Sounds good,” Castiel said. “Let’s go.” 

He turned to Bobby and nodded, and the curtains opened to an enormous roar from the audience. Dean felt temporarily paralyzed because the house lights were now on, and he could see for the first time how big the crowd really was. The rows of people seemed to stretch back so far that he imagined he could see the curvature of the earth.

Then he felt a strong squeeze on his arm, and turned to see Sam smiling at him. “You got this,” he said. “Kill it. Love you, bro.”

Dean mouthed _love you, Sam,_ and then he was alone. The house lights went out and a blue dimmer came up around him, which he was instantly grateful for; a bright spotlight blinding him would have been a major distraction. He lifted his violin to his chin again and looked out into the house once more, feeling slightly like he was inside an aquarium due to the light. The absurd recollection of him having unknowingly played to a room full of cardboard cutouts back in Los Angeles suddenly hit him, and he smirked.

Then the entire concert hall was quiet; so utterly bereft of noise that he could hear his heart beating in his ears. He lifted his bow over the strings, faltered for just a moment, then shut his eyes tightly and launched into the partita.

\---------------------

_...was at first hesitant to go far as to say ‘prodigy,’ but maybe I should. How else do you explain a 26-year old elementary school teacher who can bring the notoriously stuffy classical music world to its feet like this…_

_...has the charisma of an A-list actor and the skills of a proper master, an explosive combination that makes one wonder where he has been all our lives…_

_...outshined both his brother and his mentor in all aspects…_

Sam set the iPad down on his lap and looked over at his brother buried beneath layers of pillows in the other bed. It was well past breakfast, and Dean had been sleeping for almost ten hours. They had a post-concert meeting in an hour, then had to get on a bus for Boston shortly after that.

“Dean...”

“I’m awake, Sammy. I know. Gotta get up.”

“Ok. I’m gonna take a quick shower. Need anything?”

“Yeah.”

Sam waited for a few moments, then stood up. “Okay, what?”

“My head. Killing me. Got Tylenol?”

Sam froze, then gulped down the lump in his throat. “Did you...were you…” _drinking last night_? he wanted to ask, but he couldn’t form the words. Mostly because he didn’t want to know.

“Tylenol, Sam?” Dean repeated. “Please.”

“I have Excedrin. Hang on.”

\--------------

When Sam emerged from the shower he found Dean sitting up in bed, a little bleary-eyed but deeply focused on completing his post-concert report on his Mac. There was a room service cart rolled up to his side of the bed, but he apparently hadn’t touched it yet.

“Got you an omelet and some fruit,” Dean said. “And some kind of cheesy danish thing.”

“Awesome, thanks. What are you eating?”

“The same. In a minute.”

“How’s your head?”

“Better. Thanks. I think I’m just dehydrated.”

Sam looked again at the little minibar on the other side of the room. He hadn’t checked it to make sure it was empty when they arrived, but he was reasonably sure Chuck had instructed the hotel to remove the alcohol. 

Then he picked up his iPad again.

_...troubled young man seems destined to take the classical music world by storm if he keeps this up. It seems we can’t get enough of his story, though, and the questions keep piling up as to how he could have possibly reached such a zenith so quickly. Click here for a link to the multiple police reports found on file for him since 2009..._

“Dean?” Sam called in a slightly strangled tone as he looked back at the minibar again. “The water pressure’s awesome here. You gonna take a shower?”

“After the meeting. I gotta finish this now.”

“Okay.”

... _multiple requests for comments from Castiel Novak on Dean’s reported alcoholism have been declined by his team..._

“Dean? Were you drinking last night? Cuz you disappeared for a little while and didn’t say where you were.”

Now Dean looked at him. “I need to finish this report, Sam. If you don’t mind?”

“Just answer the question.”

Dean slammed his laptop shut in disgust, then disappeared into the bathroom. A moment later, Sam heard the shower running, so he leaped up and looked into the minibar. It was empty.

He heard the bathroom door re-open and spun around with a guilty look, slamming the fridge door shut at the same time.

Dean scowled at him. “If I was drinking, you think I’d be stupid enough to leave it in plain sight?”

“I _know_ you wouldn’t,” Sam replied hotly. “That’s what scares me. So where is it?”

“Sam-”

“Where is it? Don’t lie. I _know_ you.”

“Apparently you don’t. Drop it, Sam.”

He went back in the shower, and Sam quickly searched through Dean’s suitcase. He found the near-empty bottle of Virginia whiskey and angrily emptied it out the window into the unsuspecting flower box.


	114. Chapter 114

Dean heard his phone buzzing while he was in the shower, so he hurried up and got out, dripping water everywhere and stark naked. It was a text from Michael, which both surprised and alarmed him at the same time.

\- _Need to meet with you and Cas after his debrief before we all head to Boston_

Dean swallowed hard. Fuck, would Cas really fire him after last night? Yes...yes, he would.

_\- Got it. Anything I should prepare_

_\- No, just a chat. Thanks_

“Fuck,” Dean said out loud. At least he knew he was going to Boston, although it was possible Castiel would replace him after that for the European portion that started in three days in London. 

\- _Okay, sorry to ask. What’s it about?_

\- _Need to clarify a clause in your contract, that’s all_

Good god, that could be anything. Dean yanked a towel off the rack and dried his hair.

\------------

“So obviously,” Castiel said with a slight smile as he began the meeting with his team, “we did really well last night. Dean, in particular. Chuck has emailed us all the reviews and I’m sure you’ll be pleased once you read them. I’m going to skip that for now and go over our upcoming travels and schedule for the next few days.”

Dean fought to pay attention; he hated meetings more than perhaps anything else in the world and particularly any topic that focused on him. He took the handouts Sam shoved over to him with automatically, without glancing at them.

“The school in Boston that we’ll be visiting is similar to the one in the Bronx. An overpopulated music magnet of underprivileged children…”

Dean’s mind flashed back to the previous night, which still seemed like a dream to him. It hadn’t set in, didn’t seem real, didn’t seem possible, didn’t seem comprehensible. That he’d stood on the edge of the stage at the Lincoln Theater and played a solo partita to a silent, awed crowd. That he’d gotten a standing ovation from classical music snobs. That Sam had told him a hundred people were waiting for him to stagedoor, and were loudly disappointed when he didn’t show up.

No, it didn’t happen. If it did, they didn’t know that he didn’t deserve it. They didn’t know anything about what good music should sound like. Nor that he should be in jail right now, but Castiel Novak weaseled him out of it by-

“Dean?”

“Yes, sir,” he said, jerking his mind back to the present.

“We’re going to go over some of the reviews from last night,” Bobby said patiently. “Are you going to stay?”

“Do I have to?”

“No. That’s what I just said.”

Everyone was looking at him. Dean rose to his feet. “Sorry. No, I’m good. Thanks. I’m just gonna...I’m gonna grab a Starbucks.”

He left the room, careful not to let the door slam behind him, and was surprised when it didn’t close because Chuck was following him out.

“Hey, Dean.”

“Hey,” Dean responded guardedly as the door closed. Chuck hadn’t spoken to him in weeks, and he was fine with that.

“Castiel wants me to go with you to Starbucks.”

“Why?”

“Because he wants an iced coffee. Why else?”

Dean shrugged. “Alright, then.”

They set off towards the elevator, and Chuck asked, “Are you okay?”

Dean barely glanced at him. “Why do you care? Castiel doesn’t want coffee, I’m not stupid. He just wants you to chat me up to figure out if I’m gonna bail on this tour or not.”

“We all want to know that,” Chuck admitted. 

Dean stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the lobby. “I’ll tell you if you admit he didn’t really want coffee.”

“He actually did. I wasn’t put up to this. I’ve been his assistant for years, Dean, and I’ve never seen him this stressed out. This is all me asking for my own benefit.”

Dean shrugged. “If he wants me to leave the tour, I will. Just say the word and pay me severance and I’ll go on my merry way.”

They fell silent as another group came into the elevator, and didn’t speak again until they were on the way back to the conference level.

“Look, Dean. I’ll admit I thought you were a mistake from day one, okay? Even up until yesterday until about 7pm. But after that? Holy shit, man.”

Dean was caught off guard by that, and he halted in the hallway. “After what?”

“I’ve never seen anyone play like that, I’m just saying. I was wrong. And I want to apologize for…”

“For being a total dick to me since day one?”

Chuck closed his eyes for a few seconds. “Well, yeah. When you put it that way.”

“Not forgiven.” Dean stepped forward and mashed the button for the elevator. “You think I’m just going to up and say, oh no worries, just because you treated me like shit for six months doesn’t mean we can’t be friends?”

“Five months. And yeah, I want you to say that. Because I’m going to say the same to you.”

“I haven’t treated you like shit!”

Chuck shook his head. “Are you serious? You’re the biggest dick around, except for Castiel when he’s on a rampage. No offense or anything.”

Dean snorted. “You’re out of your mind. Offense totally intentional.”

“Really? You have any idea what it’s like dealing with Cas every time you pissed him off? Who do you think he takes it out on? But forget that, go ahead and give me one example of when you were nice to me. Just one.”

“This is stupid. Fuck, these elevators are slow.”

“One example, Dean.”

Dean was silent, and slightly enraged at Chuck’s presumptuousness.

“Fine, be that way. At least I have the guts to admit I was being a dick, and that I was wrong. You might know it, but you’ll never say it, will you?”

Dean was still silent. Still trying to think of the one time he had been nice to Chuck, but…

“I’m sorry I didn’t give you enough credit,” Chuck finally said as they exited onto the obnoxiously bright carpet. “I will from now on. Because you were fucking incredible last night, and my eyes were opened. You’re gonna be a star. I hope you enjoy the next seven months, I truly do. It’s going to change your life. Sam’s, too, but not as much. You’re the one, plain and simple.”

Dean felt a lump in his throat suddenly as he reached the end of his mental search grid. The man was right, Dean had never been nice to him. He’d been dismissive and cold to him since he was first hired, come to think of it. Not that Chuck was warm and fuzzy himself, but…now there was the added guilt of knowing Castiel may have treated him badly because he was upset at Dean.

They stopped in front of the door to the meeting room, and Dean set his resentment aside for the moment.

“Thanks, Chuck,” he said sincerely, his voice trembling a little. “I really appreciate that.”

“Sure. Can I give you another piece of advice though?”

Dean almost groaned. _Here we go_ , he thought. “Sure.”

Chuck turned slightly to face him, and looked him straight in the eyes. “Stop hating yourself, and start forgiving yourself. Like today. I mean it. You’ll never make it through this tour otherwise.”

“I….” Dean flushed hotly.

“You ever heard of imposter syndrome?”

“You _think?_ I’m practically a textbook case. My lack of confidence is due to him more than anyone, you know that.”

“It’s not about lack of confidence, Dean.”

“Oh really? What is it then, Mr. Psychologist?”

“It’s actually all about overconfidence in your own judgement. The rest of us put our trust in others by inviting them to judge us from their point of view. You can’t do that. You’re constantly discounting and trivializing everyone else’s opinions of your talent, because you think you know better than they do. It’s total arrogance. You literally have a living legend for a mentor, one who has been around the world 12 times and is the most beloved musicians of our time. Yet you don’t you believe him when he says you’re worth all this. You don’t believe lifelong critics of your profession who say the same. Why not?”

Dean didn’t know what to say. He looked down at Chuck’s hand and smiled a little. “I’d say you’re drinking Cas’ coffee.”

“Oh, shit.”

“So he did put you up to this, didn’t he?”

Chuck shook his head, dead serious now. “No. He didn’t. He’s probably going to have my ass for leaving the room right in the middle of reviews. But I thought it might be worth it to catch you alone for once.”

Dean felt like crying again, but he swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

“Alright. Well, thank you for giving me something to think about.”

“I know we’ll never be BFFs, Dean. But we can at least not be enemies. Or even frenemies. We’ve got a long road ahead of us.”

Dean nodded. “If Castiel decides to keep me, anyway. I guess I’ll find out from Michael after this meeting. This whole conversation might be for nothing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Michael said he has to meet me with afterwards, and it sounded really ominous.”

“Oh,” Chuck said with a wave of his hand. “I know what that’s about. The new guidelines for speaking with the media just got approved by Cas this morning, and he wants you and Sam to sign off on them and amend your contracts. Michael has a way of making everything overly dramatic, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Dean suddenly felt a welcome rush of relief. “Oh. Are you sure?”

“Positive. Castiel’s not getting rid of you. Nobody wants that. I will tell you though, as a heads up, that he’s going to require you to complete another round of anger management therapy. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

Dean nodded sagely. “Fair enough. I actually wouldn’t mind that. He could use it himself, though.”

“I better get back inside,” Chuck said after an awkward pause. “If you want to join-”

“No thanks.” He stuck out his hand, and was relieved when Chuck shook it. 

“Here’s to a new beginning, then,” Chuck said quietly.

They “clinked” paper cups, and Dean couldn’t help but grin a little. 

“Cheers.”

\---------------------------------------

Dean had dozed off on the couch by the elevator, and was gently awakened by Michael when it was time for their meeting. 

“Oh shit, sorry,” he gasped as he bolted upright.

Michael held back a laugh. “Come on.”

Dean followed him into the meeting room, yawning and rubbing his eyes. He sat down next to Castiel, who was already waiting there, but didn’t dare look at him. Yet. Michael handed over a single sheet of paper, which was indeed the updated guidelines for speaking to the media. 

“We have a unique challenge to solve today. You have to make the decision whether or not to answer questions about your past. Consistency is really important here, so whatever you decide, you have to carry it through for the next seven months.”

“I understand.” Dean leaned forward and read all the bullet points; there was nothing to remark about any of them. “Do you have any advice for me on that?”

“Yes-”

“No, he doesn’t,” interrupted Castiel. “This is your decision alone. Whatever you decide, we’ll back you up.”

“Cas, we-”

“No, Michael. Dean’s decision. End of story.”

Michael looked like he was about to say something back, but he clammed up. The brothers looked at Dean expectantly.

“Um. I have to decide _now_?”

“We think you already have,” Castiel said.

Dean nodded. “Yeah. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Michael glanced at Castiel; it obviously wasn’t the answer he was hoping for.

“Cas-”

“Thank you, Dean. That’s settled, then. Let’s move on to these media guidelines.”


	115. Chapter 115

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Immediately follows previous chapter in which Michael, Castiel, and Dean are meeting about media guidelines

Dean resisted the urge to yawn as he picked up the sheet of media guidelines again and re-read it.

“I’ll expect you to memorize these ten bullet points word for word and repeat them to me for before every round of interviews,” Castiel said gravely.

“Yes, sir,” Dean murmured distractedly

  1. _Do not curse, even jokingly  
_



Easy enough, and obviously tailored just for him.

  1. _Do not discuss your compensation_



Easy enough, again. Would reporters really ask about that, anyway?

  1. _Do not discuss your contract_



Dean yawned despite his best efforts not to.

  1. _Rudeness and sarcasm to reporters are never permitted_
  2. _Any opinions given about your colleagues or your/our work must be stated respectfully_
  3. _You may not speak for anyone else. Answer questions from YOUR point of view only_
  4. _If you must decline a question, simply say “Sorry, we’ll have to move on to the next question."_
  5. _You may end a solo interview early by stating politely, “I don’t believe it is in my best interests to continue this interview. Please excuse me.” No other statement is acceptable. Group interviews may only be ended by Castiel Novak._



Dean looked up at Michael. “Wow. I can end an interview...just like that?”

Castiel nodded; Dean found himself still unable to look at him, so he kept his eyes on Michael while Cas spoke to him. 

“Yes. Obviously we want to avoid that wherever possible and be diplomatic, but sometimes it has to be done. Particularly if they press you on a question you’ve already declined to answer. In fact, I fully expect you to take the initiative when it happens, and not press on. And it will happen.”

“Got it.”

  1. _Reporters are not entitled to anything other than what you are comfortable sharing_
  2. _Always remember that everything you say is being recorded word-for-word and nothing you tell a reporter will ever remain secret_



Dean set down the sheet and looked up at Michael again. “You guys know everyone is going to be asking about my past, right? I mean...I’m going to be ending every single interview prematurely at this rate.”

“No,” Michael answered. “We have a right to give them guidelines. So for you, we’ll let them know those topics are considered off-limits and they will be asking them at their peril.”

Dean shuddered a little. “Won’t...won’t that just cause more curiosity?”

“Probably. Maybe Cas is right though, it’s for the best. Because once you start answering those questions, they’re going to dominate every interview thereafter.”

Dean nodded. “Alright. Thank you. I’ll start memorizing these right away.”

“Any questions?”

“No, sir. Not right now. I’m sure I’ll think of some later.”

Michael stood up, and Dean leaped to his feet alongside Castiel. His heart was pounding sickly knowing that Castiel probably wanted to talk to him alone now, and he had no idea what to say.

“I get the feeling that you guys don’t like reporters,” he blurted nervously, just to fill the silence.

Castiel shrugged. “If you mean I take offense to the culture of overly entitled newspaper and magazine shills trying to dig into my psyche, searching in vain for some kind of philosophical epiphanies, when all I want to talk about is playing music, then yes.”

Dean, and even Michael, turned to stare at him after that mouthful of an answer.

“Good discussion, gentlemen,” Castiel continued. “Thank you. What’s funny, Michael?”

“Uh. Nothing. I’m good. You?”

“I’m fine. Let’s head to Boston, then.”

Dean stayed in place, not wanting to go, but also not wanting to stay. Michael left, and Castiel walked over the back corner of the room and picked up his duffel bag while sliding up the handle of his rolling suitcase. Dean watched him fiddle with the zipper for a few moments, then cleared his throat slightly.

“Uh. Sir.”

“Yes?” Castiel answered, keeping his eyes on his task.

“I’m...uh. Ready. For, you know. What I have coming. I consent.”

“Are you sure about that?” Cas murmured.

“Yeah.” Dean felt more confident all of a sudden, and he jutted out his chin. “I was...well, there’s one for the late report. Two for back-talking you. Four for...whatever happened on stage.”

Now Castiel finally looked at him. “You don’t know what those were for?”

“Um. I assume for not looking at you for my cues, since we play four pieces in the first half.”

“You’re correct. You came in either late or early on each one as a result. You also have one coming for your Instagram stunt.”

 _Sam’s stunt,_ Dean recalled irritably, but he didn’t react except to nod. They just stood there, looking at each other searchingly and somewhat sadly. Dean tapped his hand on his leg nervously.

“Yeah. I just...I did all those things, I admit it. They’re on me. I don’t expect you to back off on our agreement just because of…”

“Of what?”

Dean shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. He wasn’t going to admit it, but the guilt he felt on each count was overwhelming him. “Can you just do it, please? I said it already, I consent. I’m owning up to it and not going to try and get out of them. We have to stick to the contract.”

Castiel nodded once. “Agreed. Close the door and lock it.”

Dean complied. The tension in the room was so thick that he felt like he was drowning in it. He took his position against the wall.

“I’m ready, sir,” Dean mumbled, but he wasn’t. He’d fully expected Cas to say no. That this wasn’t going to happen. That due to mitigating circumstances, he’d be forgiven and start with a clean slate. He actually, sincerely thought that would be the case. So when the first stripe came down, it was a shock that made him jerk away.

“Stand still,” Castiel commanded quietly.

The next five came down steady - not fast, not hard. They hurt, but not nearly enough to send Dean writhing in agony as before. He gasped a little on each one, then silently choked back tears as he waited for it to end. His own humiliation and guilt had an effect far worse than anything Castiel could dish out, and that’s what the tears were for. But the last two never came.

“We’re done.”

Dean turned his head slightly to look at his boss, and was utterly astonished to see the man’s eyes were red and moist, too. And not just a little; he was obviously gravely affected by this turn of events. As much as he could be without actual tears rolling down his face, that is. 

“Sir, um….did you lose count, or-”

“No.”

So he subtracted two, likely for the _calm the fuck down_ s because maybe he felt bad about mistreating everyone, but Dean would never know. Castiel, being Castiel, would never admit such a thing in a million years.

“Off to Boston, then,” Dean said conversationally as he casually straightened up and put his hands into his pockets in order to stop himself from rubbing his ass. “Gonna get us some chow-dah and pahk the cah in the yahd,” he joked lightly, while at the same time wondering why in the hell he thought it was appropriate to say such a thing right now. He knew he was prone to black humor when he was at his most anxious, but this was new.

Castiel’s expression didn’t change, of course. 

“Right, um. I’ll see you on the bus, sir. Going to Starbucks first. Want anything?”

“No, thank you.”

“Well. Okay...” 

_Say you forgive me, for fuck’s sake!_

“So. Lesson learned. I won’t be late again on the reports, I promise. And I think I already made up for the whole no-eye-contact-thing in the second half. I tried to, anyway. I hope you noticed.”

Castiel nodded almost imperceptibly; Dean wasn’t sure, and just stood there mute, wearing an implacable expression. It was totally unnerving.

"And the Instagram thing. I'm sorry for that, too."

Nothing.

Dean sighed inwardly as he turned to grab his own suitcases from the other corner of the room. He took his time with it, hoping Castiel would say something, but eventually he gave up and rolled the bags out awkwardly through the heavy door that Castiel quickly stepped over to hold open for him. Then Cas grabbed his own bags while Dean held the door for him, and they both went into the elevator together and down the long hallway out to the lobby. 

Dean remembered at the very last second to throw his sunglasses on just as Sam rolled up next to him from a different elevator bank.

“Hey, bro. You know who wears sunglasses inside?”

“Me. I was blinded by your beautiful hair, Sammy, what can I say.”

Sam laughed out loud; that wonderful, rare, deep belly laugh that Dean adored so much. He couldn’t help but laugh back, and it felt so damned good.

He felt a hand on his shoulder from behind and turned to see Castiel looking at him.

“Give me your bag, Dean. Go talk to your fans. Out there.” He jerked his head to the left.

“What?”

Dean pulled his bag off his shoulder and handed it to off even as he worked through his confusion. There was a trio of teenagers standing outside the door that led to the bus, and they were watching him with obvious delight.

“Wait. What?”

“Go talk to them,” Castiel said again, more firmly. “They’re here for you. Sam, you go too. Drop your bags here.”

Dean wasn’t sure of this at all; he felt incredibly awkward walking up to them even with Sam in tow.

“Hiiiiii,” the girls all squealed at once. They were middle schoolers, no older, so Dean made sure to keep a safe distance.

“Hey kiddos. What’s up?”

Dean’s jaw nearly dropped when they asked for his autograph.

“Uh. Sure. I don’t...I don’t have anything to sign? Or a pen. Um. Sam?” He turned around to look at his brother, whose face was alight with amusement. “Sam! Go to the front desk and get a pen and paper.”

Sam dashed off and Dean turned back to the girls and chatted with them for a minute about the concert until his brother showed up again with the requested items. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry when none of them asked for Sam’s autograph, although his brother seemed to take it in stride. But still...

“This is my brother Sam, he’s our cello player.”

“I play the cello!” one of the girls said, and Dean sighed in relief as Sam took over the conversation and happily signed when they stuck their pens back out to him.

“Okay, we gotta go. Long drive to Boston,” Sam said. He was enjoying the hell out of himself, and Dean was unspeakably pleased to see his brother gleefully light up like the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree when granting the girls’ request for a selfie.

After taking the photo they left the girls - Sam, reluctantly, and Dean with relief - then walked back to the bus together.

“I don’t think they were even at the concert,” Dean wondered. “They seemed kinda blank when I mentioned it.”

“That was fun.”

“How did they know who we were if they weren’t even there, though?”

Sam laughed. “Don’t worry about. Just enjoy.”

Dean handed his suitcase to the motorcoach driver, then said, “Wait, actually. I need to get something out. Sam, go ahead and get on.”

Sam tried to stall to see if Dean was going after his whiskey bottle, but decided he didn’t want to be there when his brother found it empty. He quickly vanished into the bus and sat down.

A minute later Dean boarded, frowning deeply. His hands were empty.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Sam asked with an innocent expression as Dean passed by his seat.

Dean glared down at him, then kept going and reclaimed the last row of the bus.

 


	116. Chapter 116

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I warned you this was dark from day one. Just sayin'
> 
> Also added a couple tags.
> 
> Cheers xoxo

**_Boston_ **

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I just...we need to leave in 20 minutes, you know.”

Dean looked up from his suitcase, which he was busily zipping shut while leaning his entire weight on it to force everything in. He pointedly looked down at his fully dressed self, then back up at his brother.

“Seriously? You’re in your underwear, Sam, and your shit is still thrown everywhere. I should be telling _you_ to hurry up.”

Sam sighed. “Yeah, no, sorry, I just…”

Dean smiled a little. “You’re jittery. Nervous about today?”

“No! I...it’s just, you haven’t eaten breakfast yet. It’s getting cold. In fact, I haven’t...I haven’t seen you eating an actual meal in a while. Are you eating full meals, and not just junk food?”

Dean’s manner went cold at that, and he hauled his suitcase up to its wheels with a frown. “Answer my question first. Did you pour my whiskey out, Sammy?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. I did.”

“Don’t ever fucking do that again. Got me?”

“You’re avoiding the question, so I assume the answer is that you’re _not_ eating well. By the way, I already know you picked up another bottle of whatever this morning when you went out to _buy some vitamins_.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “I did buy vitamins!”

“Where’s the receipt?”

Dean stood up and dragged his suitcases to the door. “In my email. Don’t you fucking accuse me of lying to you, when you’ve lied to me my whole life, about everything. That’s messed up.”

Sam picked his pants up off the chair and struggled to keep his tone calm. “Not accusing you of lying at all. I know you bought them, I saw you taking them. Remember? When we talked about the Flintstones ones we loved as kids? I’m just saying...that wasn’t all you got, was it? I want to see what else is on that receipt.”

“You’re right, it wasn’t all I got. I also picked up some extra small condoms for you, just in case we meet some cougars to bang on the side. It was supposed to be a surprise, but now you’ve spoiled it.”

“Okay,” Sam replied, barely keeping his temper level. “Enough. Show me the receipt, then, if you have nothing to hide.”

“No. Don’t you fucking treat me like I need some kind of-”

“Keep your voice down!” Sam hissed furiously.

Dean repeated angrily, “Don’t you _fucking_ treat me like I need some kind of nanny, you fucking pussy. Mind your own damned business!”

Sam was so set aback by his brother’s unprecedented hostility that he stood there open-mouthed, one leg in and one leg out of his pants, precariously balancing against the ugly hotel lounge chair.

“Dean...come on,” he said softly, but it was for nothing; Dean had already turned and stormed out of the room. The door slammed with an enormous bang that must have woken half the floor at this early hour. Even worse, their room connected with another room that was part of their group, and Dean had been standing right next to the two doors between the rooms while he was shouting. If someone was still in there - Chuck, Bobby, or Michael - or god forbid, Castiel himself - Dean was in for a serious raking over the coals for creating a public disturbance in their hotel. Sam could only pray that whoever it was had already left and gone down to the bus, but it didn’t seem likely. 

He quickly finished putting his pants on, gulping back tears, then threw everything else in his suitcase haphazardly just as there was a knock on the door. Then he spotted Dean’s light jacket hanging over the back of the chair, and went to go add it to his carry-on. After he set it down, he picked it back up and felt through the pockets.

Sure enough, he found a receipt from the pharmacy, and read it while holding his breath. Vitamins. Excedrin. Pepto Bismol. Beef jerky. Jack Daniels. 

He jumped as there was a louder second knock on the door, and figured it was Dean coming back to get the jacket. He jammed the receipt back in, carefully put the garment back where he’d found it, hurried over to yank open the door.

It was Castiel. _Fuck._

“Oh, hi. Um, I’m almost ready, sir. Dean’s downstairs.”

“Good. Let's have a chat about all that yelling.”

\----------------------

Sam leaned his forehead against the glass of the motorcoach windows and sighed, his heart aching furiously and pounding hard as the group waited for Castiel to return with Dean so they could be on their way. He could barely make himself look at the side door of the hotel where the two had disappeared when Castiel made him get off the bus and go back inside to address this latest incident.

No doubt it was getting ugly in there, but Sam had no regrets. Yet. He hadn’t said much, and left a lot open for interpretation, so the only thing Cas could really take him to task for was all the yelling about his poor eating habits and door slamming.

Sam hadn’t told him about the whiskey, which was fortunately something Castiel was not aware of even though he heard most of their fight from next door. Sam didn’t know yet how big of a problem Dean's drinking would ultimately turn out to be, and had far too much faith in his brother right now to expect that this was only the beginning of an extremely dark road. Had he known, or even suspected it, he might have said something. But he didn't.

“Jesus, what’s taking them so long?” Chuck whined after twenty more minutes had passed. “We’re going to be late.”

Nobody said anything.

“Wait. I just got…” Chuck said a few minutes later. Michael turned around to look at him.

“Got what?”

“An AMEX notification. Cas just used the company card at the restaurant. Just _now_. Are you kidding me? They’re in there having breakfast while we’re sitting out here waiting?”

Sam closed his eyes in pain and leaned back against the headrest. So Cas was making him eat. Good, but Dean was never going to talk to Sam again for letting that little tidbit slip out.

“They’re coming,” Bobby said. “Act natural.”

Sam pulled out his iPad and opened Candy Crush, and the others became instantly engaged in conversation as though they all hadn’t been sitting in dead silence for half an hour. Dean came on the bus first, looking extremely tired, then Cas close behind, with an annoyed but otherwise calm expression. Sam didn’t look up as his brother passed him, and Dean didn’t stop on his way to the back row.

“We’re going to be late,” Chuck quietly told his boss. “I’ve let the school know.”

“Thanks, Chuck.”

The bus pulled away, and Sam sighed and turned off his iPad. Ten minutes later, his phone dinged with Dean’s text tone. Sam’s eyes flew open, but he froze in hesitation for at least a minute. Another ding. He reached into his pocket and silenced his phone, but eventually pulled it out as if it were a grenade and fearfully slid open the notifications.

_\- Im sorry, Sammy_

Sam set the phone in his lap, and wiped away the hot tears that suddenly sprang to his eyes. Fuck, his brother was such a bloody out-of-control nightmare sometimes. He truly was, but he hadn’t deserved all the shit he had been subject to over the years. Some of which Sam was entirely responsible for, fuck it all. Before he could reply, another text from Dean came in:

\- _Thanks for not telling Cas everything_

_\- Did he cane you_

_\- Not yet but he will after the concert. I deserve it ngl so don’t get mad.  
_

_\- Ok. So you’re good now? You ate?  
_

_\- Yeah_ _. I’ll throw it away at the next stop. Come with. Ok?_

_\- Yup. Good. Love you bro_

_\- Love you too Sammy_

_\- I’m proud of you Dean. You’re gonna be okay_

No response, but that was expected. Sam had gotten what he wanted, except for Dean's imminent caning, which he absolutely despised...but not enough to prevent him from dozing off until they pulled into the parking lot of the beat-up Boston middle school.

They got off the bus together, and Dean grabbed Sam's arm discreetly and pulled it to him. "I got it. Feel it? Trash can right there. Watch for me."

Sam nodded and looked back at the group. No one in the group was paying any attention to them.

"Do it."

Dean turned and slipped the bottle into the bin, which fell with a loud clink, then put his hands back in his pockets and resumed a nonchalant expression.

"Cold today," he remarked calmly. "Leaves are turning, though. It's pretty."

"Yep," Sam replied without really hearing what Dean said. He had known instantly from the hollow sound of the bottle hitting the bottom of the bin that Dean had dumped the old empty one, not the new one.

"Proud of you, Dean," he said anyway, as he pulled his coat tighter to his chest against the sudden chill.

\----------------------------------------


	117. Chapter 117

“So tell me about your breakfast with Cas. I’m assuming you guys had a good conversation, since you were still alive afterwards?”

Dean was about to laugh, but he wisely refrained once he saw how deeply concerned his poor brother was about the whole thing.

“You couldn’t be more wrong, dude. He led me by the arm to the buffet line, left me there, then stood back by the hostess desk and watched me like a hawk while I ate. Then he paid my bill and we came back to the bus. Never said a word to me the whole time. Not a peep.”

“Oh. Shit.” Sam was thoroughly disappointed at the fact that no breakthrough had been achieved with their boss and Dean. 

“Creepiest meal I’ve ever had. Thanks for that, Sammy.”

“Um, so wait. If he didn’t talk to you, how do you know he’s going to cane you?”

“Because it’s Cas, Sam! He’s warned us a million times about this kind of thing. I’m telling you, I legit feel like he would murder us in advance if we even _thought_ about trashing a hotel room. Full-on Minority Report shit right there.”

Sam drank the rest of his smoothie and threw it into the trash can as they turned and walked back to the school’s music building to start their clinics. Cas would most definitely murder them for getting back late from break after the concert, there was no question.

“Um, Dean,” Sam began hesitantly, his mind still firmly held captive by the memory of that empty bottle.

“Yeah?”

“Nothing. Sorry, just. I was going to ask if you’ve been reading the reviews.”

“Nope. Trying to pretend they don’t exist, so don’t remind me.”

Sam nodded and sighed. “Got it.”

“Door’s locked,” Dean said gloomily after he’d bounded up the stairs and yanked on the handle to the school building. “Great. I’ll text Cas and let him know first.”

Dean sent a quick text to Cas, then to Chuck, who wrote back in record time that he would be right there.

“So,” Sam said. “You think dad would be proud of us right now? I’ve been wondering.”

“Haven’t really thought about it.”

“I mean, I know that he could really be-”

“He must be out of range,” Dean interrupted, almost to himself.

“What?” Sam asked in confusion, caught off guard. _Dad out of range_ …?

“My text to Cas failed,” Dean clarified. “At least Chuck responded. He’ll be here in a sec. We’re not late yet, all good.”

\--------------------------------

Dean’s clinic with the middle schoolers went just as well, if not better, than the one in New York. He was glowing from head to toe as he packed his violin up and went into the hallway to meet up with Chuck. He was intercepted at the door first by Bobby, though, who looked like he just ran over his own dog.

“Everything okay, Bobby?”

“Not really. We need to talk.”

Dean deeply hated the phrase _we need to talk._ “Fuck. What now? Sorry...what about, I mean?”

“Need you to do me a favor. You know we’re taking a red-eye to London tonight, so there’s no time for us to get together alone after the concert. Until then, don’t do anything stupid.”  
  
“Wow. Okay.”

Bobby took a deep breath. “I coulda phrased that better. Cas just told me you’re not invited to the pre-concert briefing tonight. So when we arrive just go to your dressing room and stay there until places is called. I’ll explain later. Okay?”

Dean nearly dropped his violin case in all his anxiety. “I don’t understand,” he said flatly. “I mean, don’t get me wrong - since all he does is yell at everyone, I’m happy missing out. But is he excluding only me, though?”

“Yep.”

Chuck came out into the hallway trailed by Sam, who was in turn trailed by Castiel. Dean tried to make eye contact with his mentor despite Bobby’s instructions to the contrary, but Cas looked the other way in an obvious attempt to avoid him. Dean stood rooted in place as the trio passed by, then he found he couldn’t make his legs move to follow Bobby down the hall. 

“Dean? Come on,” Bobby called, and Dean forced himself to take the steps towards the motorcoach. He got on first and made his way slowly to the back, feeling like he was walking underwater and all the voices around him were a hundred feet away.

A few minutes later they were on the road to the concert hall, and Dean couldn’t bear the thought of getting the silent treatment from his idol. He pulled out his phone and went to the latest text thread with Castiel.

_\- Can we talk before the concert? I had an idea on a different interpretation of the triplet passage in the Paganini and wanted to run it by you. If you have time. Thanks_

[Message Failed!]

Dean blinked, then checked his signal. Five bars, but sometimes T-Mobile could be sketchy about coverage. He rebooted his phone and waited for what seemed like a lifetime for it to start up again and reconnect to the network. Then he copied and pasted his message to Castiel.

_\- Can we talk before the concert? I had an idea on a different interpretation of the triplet passage in the Paganini and wanted to run it by you. If you have time. Thanks_

[Message Failed!]

_\- Sam, testing. Let me know if you get this. Phone acting up_

_-_ _Loud and clear_

Deep breath.

_\- Can we talk before the concert? I had an idea on a different interpretation of the triplet passage in the Paganini and wanted to run it by you. If you have time. Thanks_

[Message Failed!]

It was Castiel’s phone, then. Dean sighed and leaned his head against the window, but he was unable to keep his eyes closed due to his sudden restlessness. The scenery blurred by, and against his will he started thinking about dad. _Damn it, Sammy..._

\----------------------------------------

Castiel didn’t visit the brother’s dressing room as usual once set up was complete, and Dean was battling an increasingly unpleasant, suspicious feeling coiling in his gut about his earlier chat with Bobby.

“Sam?” he said offhandedly as he tied his shoes.

“Yeah?” Sam was putting on yet another layer of hairspray, and Dean had to fight to breathe all of a sudden. 

“Shit, lay off that crap already before you give us lung cancer. Hey, um. Since Cas is mad at me right now can you let him know his phone needs to be rebooted?”

Sam stopped what he was doing and turned around to stare at his brother.

“Rebooted? What?”

“Yeah, uh, my texts to him are failing to go through. If he reboots it’ll reset the network settings.”

Sam’s forehead furrowed deeply. “Since when?”

“Since back at the school. Just tell him.”

“His phone’s fine. I messaged him all the way over here. Must have fixed itself.”

Dean shuddered as an ice-cold chill ran down his spine.

“Oh. It’s mine then. Thanks, never mind.”

He picked up his phone and pretended to reboot it.

_\- Are you stopping by the dressing room before places?_

[Message Failed!]

Dean gasped a little. It seemed utterly incomprehensible to him that Castiel could be so petty as to block his number, but...what other explanation could there be? He swallowed hard as the door popped open and Chuck poked his head inside.

“Fifteen minutes. Anything to report?” he said in his usual brisk, no-nonsense tone.

“No, sir,” they said automatically, and the head withdrew as the door banged shut.

“How was Cas during the briefing?” Dean asked offhandedly as if he didn’t give a shit, but the truth was, it was all he cared about right now and he’d been wanting to ask for half an hour.

“He wasn’t there. Bobby and Chuck handled it. I heard Cas say he had to meet with Michael for some emergency or another.”

_Oh fuck._

_I’m getting fired. I fucking knew it._

_They’re going to send me home the other direction tonight. Benny’s probably on his way now. No wonder Bobby was so cagey._

_Fuckity fuck fuck fuck…._

Once Dean was able to breathe again, he leaned over and picked up his water. “Hmmm. Did he happen to say why I wasn’t invited?”  
“No. I was going to ask you, but…then it seemed pretty obvious.”

“Oh.” Dean set down his water. “I’m going to find Bobby. See you in the wings.”

“Wait-”

\---------------------

“What the hell’s going on, Bobby!” Dean demanded in a low, angry tone as he popped up behind the artistic director’s post at the stage right monitor station.

“Jesus Christ! I’m an old man, don’t scare me like that.”

“Scare you? I’m the one freaking out!”

“I can see that. What the hell do you _think_ is going on?”

Dean felt his chest starting to rise and fall _way_ too quickly. “I’m, he’s, they’re gonna...isn’t he?”

 _Ten minutes!_ yelled the stage manager just over Dean’s shoulder, making him jump.

“Thank you, ten. Bobby, I’m about to have a frickin’ heart attack. I’m serious. Tell me he’s not doing what I think he’s doing. He said he had to meet with Michael, some kind of emergency?”

Bobby sighed. “Kiddo, stop it. You’re not fired. Calm down.”

“Thank god. Then what? Come on, tell me. He blocked my number, did you know that?”

“Not surprised. Look, I’m your new boss now; he wants to distance himself from you for a bit. We’ll talk later.”

 _“Distance himself?”_ Dean parroted, slightly aghast. “As in cutting me off? Fuck. You’ve got to be joking.”

“Your only worry right now is to get out there and kick ass. I told you we’ll talk later. Get your head in the game.”

“Oh my fucking god.”

Dean left the little kiosk and stomped to the other wing all the way across center stage, even though he knew Castiel would rip him a new one for not taking the back wall passage like he was supposed to. Sam was already in the wings moodily holding on to his cello.

“Sam, I just talked to Bobby and you won’t believe what he-”

“Your fly is down!” Sam said loudly - _way_ too loudly for the distance between them.

Dean looked down; his zipper was fine. He realized instantly that Sam was warning him Castiel was near, so he faked pulling it up anyway. “Thanks, Sammy. Jesus, that would have been embarrassing! In front of all these people. Anyway, as I was saying, you won’t believe what Bobby told me about the good reviews! I’m kinda freaking out. Amazing, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah, good news,” Sam responded with a pained grin. “Dad would be so proud.”

The hastily crafted words sounded so stilted and ridiculous to Dean’s own ears that he blushed a little, but there seemed no other choice than to bluff his way through it. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Castiel standing less than ten feet away, nearly hidden among the black curtains, and silently thanked Sam for his quick-witted intervention.

_Five minutes!_

“Thank you five,” all three men said together, and Dean turned to look at Cas and nod slightly, since he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t there now. But the thudding of his heart was making him horribly nauseated and he barely heard the applause or saw the cue lights. Suddenly he was in his chair, his violin in his hand as if it had been placed there by an invisible helper, and the little counter on the piano already changed to one for his mistake in crossing the stage while it was off-limits. 

It was fair. Dean knew better. Everyone did; Castiel didn’t mess around. Even his own techs couldn’t set foot on the “hot” stage once it was set up and ready to go to his exact specifications, and no one else ever dared to do what Dean had just done. He’d have to suck it up without complaint. 

He carefully kept his eyes locked on Castiel for the cues and pushed everything else out of his mind as the first notes rang out. Once his bow was on the strings, nothing else mattered anymore.

\-----------------

_Dean. Dean. Dean. Dean._

Castiel, Sam, and Bobby stood behind the curtain silently looking at each other, then at Dean, then back at each other. It was a glorious sense of deja vú for everyone except Dean, who went to sit back in his chair and looked thoroughly depressed.

“What are you going to do?” Bobby asked Castiel.

_Encore. Encore. Encore. Encore._

“Dean,” Castiel barked sharply. “I didn’t say you could sit back down.”

One querulous eyebrow raised slightly on the violinist’s tired face, but he obediently got back up as Bobby and Sam exchanged _oh shit_ glances.

_Dean. Dean. Dean. Dean._

“We’ll take another bow and play the Fauré,” Castiel decided. “Curtains, Bobby.”

Dean didn’t look at his colleagues or smile as they took a second bow. He was exhausted, and worried, and just wanted to get on the plane and talk to Bobby.

They all sat back down, played the Fauré, took a third set of bows and disappeared behind the curtains. The crowd was still calling for Dean for some time, and he flinched as Castiel finally turned to look questioningly at him. The partita. 

“I don’t want to,” Dean said preemptively, and somewhat defensively since he was expecting a huge fight. “I’m tired, sir.”

Castiel nodded. “Bobby, open the curtains about five feet and put a spotlight on me. Everyone offstage.”

The brothers went, wondering what the hell Castiel was up to. They waited in the wings and watched him disappear through opening and out of sight.

“What is he doing?” Sam asked, but was cut off by Castiel’s voice over the microphone. The crowd went instantly silent as he spoke. 

_Thank you all for being an incredible audience. It’s been a pleasure to play for you. Unfortunately we have to race off to the airport now in order to make our flight to London. We’ll be back in Boston in May and hope to see you then. Goodnight, and thank you again._

Dean glanced at Sam and wrung his hands. “Shit, he’s gonna kill me for refusing to play.”

“No he’s not. You didn’t outright refuse, and you were respectful. He’s fine.”

Castiel reappeared and Dean stiffened like a soldier as he walked up to the brothers.

“I’m sorry,” Dean blurted nervously, and Castiel stopped in his tracks to stare at him.

“Why? Dean, I respect your limits as much as anyone else’s. You know that.”

Dean instantly relaxed and almost cried in relief. “Okay. Thanks.”

“Speaking of limits, though, Michael and I need to talk to you. Come with me.”

_Dean. Dean. Dean. Dean._

——-

Dean shifted uncomfortably at the little conference table in Castiel’s dressing room with the very gravely chatty Michael and their strangely silent boss.

“So to wrap up...we’re doing this because Castiel strongly feels it’s in both of your best interests if you strictly limit your interactions to critical business matters only.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Dean shot back hotly. “You said that. I just want to know why he’s blocking my damned phone number? You can’t be serious.”

Michael took a deep breath. “Dean, we’re not going to fight with you about this. You’ll have a fifteen-minute window to speak with him in my presence before every post-concert briefing, if either of you request it. Other than that, your instructions are to keep your distance and route all of your communications to him through Bobby or me, as I just said.”

“We only have those briefings every other day, at the most,” Dean protested faintly. “Sometimes every three days.”

“Yes,” Castiel answered calmly. “That’s the point.”

“Oh my god. This is so fucking petty and out of proportion. I’m in shock, to be honest.” He was, too; a big part of his brain was still processing this all as a potential joke.

Castiel looked over at his brother and nodded as Dean started to get more emotional. “I think we’ve covered everything. Thanks, Michael.”

Just like that, Dean was alone with his idol. Former idol, now that he was pulling this stunt.

“Sir, this is bullshit,” Dean muttered as a lump formed in his throat. “Complete and utter bullshit. Why are you really doing this?”

Castiel took a deep breath and seemed to be struggling to find an answer for a few moments. “I’m doing it for you, Dean. I don’t know how else to put it. Because if you talk to me again the way you did yesterday and the day before, I’m going to be forced to fire you. Your career will never recover; and I don’t want that. I want you to succeed, and the only way to keep you in this tour is to eliminate opportunities for us to reach the breaking point. Plain and simple.”

Dean was so perfectly set aback by that in every respect possible that he could no longer even shape his mouth to speak the words that he couldn’t find in the first place. All he could do was squeak a little.

“Before every briefing you will meet with me to accept correction for any errors the day before; then we’ll talk about whatever we need to talk about, if anything.”

“With Michael in the room,” Dean clarified flatly.

“Correct. In between those briefings you’re not to engage in conversation with me unless I _directly_ initiate it. That includes texts and emails. If you need something from me, tell Bobby. Do you understand?”

Dean nodded numbly. “What about Sam.”

“I’m not changing anything with Sam. We barely speak to each other already.”

Dean couldn’t decide whether to laugh hysterically or cry even more hysterically. The concert had only ended twenty minutes ago, with an enormous crowd chanting his name in glee and demanding more of his time in the same timeframe his boss was admitting he didn’t even want to look at him. It was surreal.

“But I...fine. If that’s what you want.”

“Of course it’s not. But I don’t see any other option.”

“Other than you _not_ being a total dick to me, you mean?” Dean fired back hotly.

Castiel didn’t visibly react, and his tone remained calm. “I suspect you’ll feel relief rather than anger very soon. I’m not an easy person to get along with or to talk to.”

“You don’t say.”

“I think it’s crucial for you to lose the stress of dealing with me and focus on your well-being so that you can continue excelling on stage. Such as eating actual meals and going to sleep at a decent hour. I know you’ve been returning every night so far long after curfew, but I haven’t said anything because it hasn’t affected your playing. If it does, though, I’m going to bring the hammer down hard, just so you’re aware. But for now I’ll remove the restriction with that understanding between us. For you and Sam, that is.”

Dean nodded, all his nerve endings tingling with embarrassment. So Cas knew Sam had been lying to him, then. Fuck.

“In thirty days we’ll revisit this new arrangement and see if there’s anything we need to change.”

“Thirty days. That’s a really long time.”

“Last thing I’ll say before I let you go is that I’m mandating that you complete a more advanced anger management training program within 60 days.”

Dean couldn’t help himself. He knew he shouldn’t say it. Absolutely should keep his mouth shut.  But…he wouldn’t get the chance again. 

“Fair enough. I need it. But so do you. Just saying.”

He braced himself for a tongue-lashing of a decade, but Castiel remained just as maddeningly placid as before.

“I’m aware of that. Michael is working to recommend a program for me as well.”

“Oh. I see. So until then, I’m a persona non grata.”

“Dean, this isn’t a punishment. It’s an attempt to save your career. If this tour falls apart-”

“Okay, yeah, I get it.” Dean was feeling slightly better now, and his defenseness was starting to wane. “So I guess Bobby’s going to take over beating my ass then, too.”

Now Castiel’s nostrils flared a little; and Dean backed off hastily. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“You discipline is still my responsibility. But he is now your boss for the time being, if that’s what you were asking. So unless something comes up, we’ll speak again after our London concert in three days. Anything else you wish to say before then?”

_I’m so sorry I forced you into this._

_I deserve it. And worse._

_I’m a fucking pathetic loser._

_I deserve to be in jail._

“So...you’re really not mad that I didn’t want to play the partita?”

“No. You knew you couldn’t do it justice and refused to compromise. I wouldn’t expect anything else.” Castiel hardened his tone a little. “Go pack up. We need to leave.”

Dean rose to his feet stiffly and stuck out his hand. Castiel hesitated as if he was expecting to be electrocuted, but quickly recovered and stood up to shake Dean’s hand in return.

“Thank you for not firing me, sir. I mean it. I’m going to do you proud, I swear.”

Dean said nothing to Sam to indicate anything was wrong as they packed up to go back to the bus. He got onboard, sprawled out in the back row, and dug into his duffle to find the bottle that would help him prepare to be overwhelmed by grief and loss.

It didn’t hit him for a while that those emotions weren’t coming. All he could feel was relief. He drank anyway, then deleted Castiel’s contact info from his phone and closed his eyes to rest.


	118. Chapter 118

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean finally learns his lesson about having a big fat mouth.

“Is this your bag, sir?”

Dean looked at the airport TSA agent and nodded wearily. _Just great._ “Yes, sir. Something wrong?”

“Come over here, please.”

Dean sighed irritably. “Be right back, Sammy. Guess they gotta check my toothpaste for explosives or something.”

He waited impatiently as the grumpy screening agent meticulously took item by item out of his duffle, examining them individually at an excruciatingly slow pace and asking inane questions. Everyone else in his group had cleared security already and were walking to the gate with their heads buried in their phones, except Sam, who had stayed to wait for his brother.

“Got any liquids in here?”

“Oh shit,” Dean blurted suddenly, a little panicky. “Yeah I-”

“Yeah, we’re going to have to confiscate this,” the agent said loudly, holding up the bottle of Jack for all to see, like Simba’s father holding him over Pride Rock. “You must not travel much if you’re trying to get this one past us.”

Dean cringed hard. “It was a gift. Can you just toss it and _not_ make a scene, please?”

“You think this is a scene? How about being cited for an open container in an airport?”

The agent set it down on a shelf out of sight, but it was too late, Dean realized. Everyone within 20 feet had seen it now, including Sam. Fuck. And the man had a definite smirk now that he was aware of Dean’s discomfort and enjoying it thoroughly. 

“Got anything else in here you wanna tell me about?”

“Since you’re enjoying yourself so much, how about I let you find out for yourself?”

“Hmmm. Been drinking tonight?”

“None of your business,” Dean huffed.

“Well, well. You’re a cheeky one. You sure that’s wise right now?”

“Probably not.” It took all the effort Dean could muster up not to talk back to the man again. He shut his mouth tightly and started to count, and got to 157 before the man was done with his bag and had zipped it back up.

“I gotta send this back through the scanner again. Gonna take a while; we’ve got quite a line.”

“But can’t you just stick it in front of the other bags? Please. I have a flight to catch.”

“No kidding? Wow. I’ve never heard of anyone coming to the airport to catch a flight before. You must be really special.”

“I just-”

“Back of the line. You and your bag _and_ your guitar.”

Dean rolled his eyes and shrugged his violin case off his back. “Since this passed through already I’ll just give it to my brother-”

“I said take it with you.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so. Any other questions?”

Dean shook his head a little, then muttered as he slung the precious instrument over his shoulder again, “Got it, chief. Fuck you very much.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said thank you very much, sir.”

The man’s eye twitched once, then twice. “Supervisor!”

———

Dean awoke abruptly and gasped when the flight attendant touched his shoulder to get his attention.

“Seat upright, sir. We’re descending.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Dean pushed the little circular button on his armrest to draw the seat up and tensed up again as he started the cycle again of both dreading and not caring what was going to happen when he saw Castiel next. Being unceremoniously bumped onto the next flight merely for passive aggressively baiting the TSA Officer was pretty much the dumbest thing that had happened to him in a while, and that was saying a lot. Not only was it a connecting flight instead of nonstop, but he also got demoted to economy class and proceeded to mope from the second to last row all the way to Iceland for a long layover, and then finally London, arriving a good 17 hours after everyone else. 

He’d been extraordinarily lucky that the concert was still more than 48 hours away, but he still missed a group dinner with some potential investors at the best restaurant in London. He hadn’t wanted to go anyway, but that wasn’t any comfort at all under the circumstances.

Dean turned on his phone with overwhelming dread as the plane started to empty out. No text messages at all, and his email box populated rapidly with minor schedule updates from Chuck over the past day. He read them all quickly, then fought valiantly to control his anxiety as he texted Sam.

- _Headed to customs then catching a cab to the Dorchester. What’s our room number_

_-I’m waiting for you at baggage claim_

_-Awesome. Thanks Sammy. I assume Cas has picked out my method of execution already?_

No answer, unsurprisingly. Dean was immensely relieved when he finally spotted Sam standing guard over his two pieces of luggage, but his brother didn’t seem happy to see him at all. That was unsurprising, too.

“Have a good flight?” Sam asked tightly.

Dean grabbed the handle of his largest suitcase. “Not my favorite eleven hours ever, I’ll just leave it at that.”

“Are you sober?”

“Fuck. Really, we’re doing this now?”

Sam’s face was a picture of impatience. “Is that a no?”

“I had two drinks on the plane. You know how much I hate flying.”

Sam nodded. “Fair enough. We had plans to see the city, you know. I had booked us a couple private tours. Expensive. Non-refundable.”

“I know. I’m fine. Looking forward to it. Are we taking a taxi, or-”

“You can’t come with me,” Sam blurted hotly. “You’re basically grounded until further notice.”

Dean stopped so quickly that his suitcase kept rolling and smacked him in the back of the knees, making him lurch a little. “You’re kidding me.”

“Nope.”

“Cas can’t do that. I’m an adult!”

“Apparently not adult enough to read your contract. He absolutely can, and he did. So thanks a lot, I get to spend 36 hours by myself touring London. Really looking forward to it, Dean.”

Dean laughed humorlessly. “Fuck that. He’s not my boss anymore, anyway. I’ll talk to Bobby. Let’s go.”

“Um, Dean?”

“What?”

Sam’s expression said it all. The wrinkled forehead, the visible hesitation, the nervous tapping on the handle of the suitcase. Dean didn’t need to ask his next question, but he did anyway.

“Bobby won’t fight it. Wonderful. 26 years old and treated like a pimple-faced teenager. Shit. Fine. Come on, I need food.”

“You can’t go out. I literally just said that.”

“Room service, then. Whatever. Let’s go.”

———-

“Hey, kiddo. Sounding good.”

“Hey. Thanks.” Dean set his violin down on the hotel room’s sideboard and went to the minibar. “Want a drink? Non-alcoholic, of course, since…”

“I’m good. Where’s Sam?”

“He took a tour to Windsor Castle and Bath.” Dean pulled out a tiny can of Coke from the fridge and cracked it open. “I’ve been keeping myself busy practicing these damned triplets in Broken Glass. They’re the only thing I get hung up on even to this day. Six sharps and he throws in some double flats. Cas is a freakin’ sadist. Musically, I mean.”

Bobby sat on the sidechair next to the enormous television that was currently silently streaming the BBC with captions.

“So. The airport. I’d like to know what happened after you were taken away.”

“Yeah.” Dean set down the now-empty can of Coke and pulled out a ginger ale. “Not much, they kept me waiting forever just to fuck with me. Then the TSA agent actually carried out his threat and had the airport police cite me. Didn’t see that coming.”

“Cited for what?”

“Interfering with a TSA search,” Dean answered. And also for his open container, but he didn’t mention that and prayed Sam hadn’t. “Have to pay a fine. It’s technically a misdemeanor.”

“And that doesn’t violate your probation somehow?”

“No. I called Bela afterwards and she said something about it being out of jurisdiction, a homeland security thing rather than...whatever, I don’t know. She said I’m fine. Thank god. Anyway, after that, they sent me all the fuck the way to the back of line to start over and that’s why I missed our flight, as you know.”

Bobby shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. “Sam had to tell Cas what he witnessed. You know that.”

“Of course. And you know I’m not holding it against him, right?”

“Better not be, since he was very generous to you in his explanation. I’d say almost to the point of lying, if I didn’t know better. Just so we’re clear, he might go that far, but I never will.”

Dean took a deep breath. “I wouldn’t expect you to. Never even fucking think about it, Bobby. I’m not worth wrecking your relationship with him.”

“I want you to do me a favor, Dean. Just a small one to start with, on your way to getting back in good graces with Cas.”

“Not sure that’s ever gonna happen, but what?”

Bobby smiled just a little. “Stop saying fuck every other sentence. It’s not very classy, for starters. And yeah, it can be funny. But it doesn’t do you any good whatsoever. You know that TSA agent sure as hell didn’t appreciate it. You’d be out touring with Sam right now if you had censored yourself just that once. Not to mention, one fewer unpleasant conversation with your boss about it.”

Dean blushed slightly. “You have a point. Thanks, I’ll work on it.”

“One more thing. You haven’t been responding to emails for almost a week. You’ve gotta do that, kiddo. Biggest part of keeping us all in line and on the same wavelength is communication.”

“I’ve been reading them,” Dean responded defensively.

“Good. I don’t know that, though. So just say you got it, only takes a second and makes everyone happy. Also, you probably haven’t seen it yet but Michael sent us both your new therapy program and the login details. Cas wants you to start it today after you see him.”

Dean walked over to his duffel bag and pulled out his phone, which he hadn’t touched since arriving at the hotel last night. Sure enough there were nine emails, two from Michael. He pulled up the one with the subject “A.M. Program Enrollment,” and read through it glumly. Three hours a day for a week, two hours a day for two weeks, and one hour a day for five weeks. Every single day. Castiel was not messing around, that much was certain.

“Okay. Well, guess I’m gonna have plenty of time on my hands in the near future. Any idea when this restriction to my room thing is going to be canceled?”

“That’s up to Cas.”

“With your guidance, of course,” Dean prompted.

“Yes.”

Dean threw the phone back into his duffle and went to return his violin to its case. “So, you mentioned me seeing him today. When?”

“In about ten minutes. That’s why I came, to give you a heads up.”

“Great. I wanted to ask him about that triplet passage on Broken Glass anyway. I’ll take my violin with me.”

“Aren’t you going to ask me what he wants to talk about?” Bobby asked curiously.

“I have a pretty good idea.” Dean imagined his ass burning already. “But if there’s anything I should be prepared for…”

“Yeah, since you missed the post-concert briefing and the dinner yesterday, he’ll want to catch you on on that. Not sure I’m at liberty to tell you about the dinner, but I’ll tell you the briefing was a little rough. Cas wasn’t happy with Sam and started an argument with him in front of all of us. So they’re on the outs again, in case you didn’t know.”

Dean was surprised. “I didn’t. Sam didn’t say anything. Not sure he would have anyway since he was too busy bitching me out for what happened at the airport.”

“Hmmm. That’s what started it, actually. Cas was pretty defensive of you and Sam didn’t like it. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

Dean blinked, then nodded. “Wait. You have that the other way around, right? _Sam_ was defensive of me.”

Bobby shook his head. “Nope. Don’t be too hard on your brother. He’s really worried about you and I think it’s affecting his relationship with everyone.”

_Because he knows about my drinking. And they don’t. Yet. Fuck._

“Got it. I’d better go. Where am I meeting Cas?”

\------------------------------

“That’s two. We’re done. Go open the door and let Michael back in.”

Dean stayed leaning against the wall for a few moments, struggling to catch his breath so he could go back to normal as quickly as possible. Not that Michael didn’t already know, since he had been asked to leave after Dean consented, but at least Castiel made it quick and didn’t lecture. Two and done; one for crossing the stage while off-limits and one for swearing at Sam backstage in front of the crew.

“One moment, sir.”

Castiel said nothing, but Dean heard him taking out what sounded like a notebook and flipping pages open. Probably his concert journal, but maybe also the three-ring binder full of reviews.

“Sir,” Dean breathed a moment later. “Can we just talk for a second?”

Castiel grunted and got up and opened the door himself, and Dean popped back upright and turned to face the brothers.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he muttered.

“Have a seat,” Castiel said, and Dean irritably plopped into his chair, which was thankfully padded to high heavens. He ignored Michael’s sympathetic look and kept his eyes focused on Castiel. 

“What would you like to talk about?” Castiel asked. “I see you brought your violin.”

Dean took another deep breath to steady himself. “Yes, sir. I think the bow markings in Broken Glass should be changed throughout the triplet section, for about 16 bars. I wanted to play it for you and see what you think.”

“Go ahead. But please first explain why you’re just bringing this up to me now, after we’ve been rehearsing that piece for months?”

“Because you’ve sped up the tempo in the last two weeks, sir. So now it doesn’t work for me anymore. I brought it up to Bobby, and he played it and agreed with me that they should be changed.”

Castiel looked embarrassed, but Dean tried not to feel overly smug about it. He knew Castiel wasn’t a violinist, and that the music had been notated by Gabriel himself, but that didn’t mean it was wrong. Perhaps Dean just wasn’t good enough.

“Point taken, thank you. Play it for me as written, then play it again as you would like it written.”

Dean took a few steps over to his violin case and took his time unbuckling and unzipping it; he was feeling a little shaky after having been caned, as usual, and wasn’t sure he was up for playing anymore. But he did it anyway, and afterwards Castiel turned to look at Michael.

“Well don’t look at me,” Michael said with a grin. 

Dean almost smiled at Castiel’s expression; the fact that Michael was as tone-deaf as a rock and couldn’t read music at all had never failed to irk his elder brother (which then thoroughly amused the Winchester brothers).

“No, I wasn’t going to ask your opinion. Have Gabriel give Dean a call so he can dictate those changes to him for our music library. No rush. Also have him note my new tempo, Dean.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Dean gratefully. Now that passage would no longer give him the dry heaves afterwards. 

“Anything else? I don’t mind you changing music I’ve written, by the way. We both know I’m not a string player.”

“No, thank you.”

“Okay. Put the violin away and we’ll talk about what happened at the airport.”

 _Fuck._ Well, apparently he wasn’t going to be caned for it, and that was a good start. He’d already been “grounded” instead, so what was left to say? 

“First of all,” Castiel began, “I’ll assume you’ve learned your lesson and will refrain from antagonizing any security officers in the future, no matter how much they provoke you.”

Understatement of the century. Dean nodded.

“Yes, sir. I’m so sorry for the inconvenience it caused.”

“Good. American airport security is a joke compared to that in Europe. You’ll see when we arrive in Munich that machine guns are everywhere, and nobody will put up with any backtalk. You’ll likely end up in jail if you try that again.”

Dean nodded, surprised that Castiel’s tone was so conversational and not at all construable as any type of lecture. He was almost... _friendly?_

“I believe that you missed our flight by only a few seconds, is that the case?”

Dean nodded, swallowing down the still-bitter memory of the gangway door slamming in his face as two gate agents held out a hand and told him to back up and get on the next flight. “Yes. Of course I paid for the new flight out of pocket, sir, as well as the cab when I arrived.”

“Good. Despite your absence at dinner, though, the investors decided to throw in their lot with us after seeing our first three concerts. We now have eight weeks of the tour fully funded by them, which means eight weeks not coming out of my pocket any longer.”

“That’s...wow. A lot of money.”

“Yes. But also a lot more pressure on all three of us to perform. I know you’re upset about me taking away your free time, but I don’t see any other way to make a point. I can only fine you so much. I can only cane you so much. So until you complete that anger management program, I don’t want you out in public, always on the verge of making another mess for me to clean up. Do you understand?”

Dean’s throat was dry as sandpaper. “Sir, that...that program is _sixty_ days long. You can’t-”

“I can, and I am. With the exception of any dinners we may have, or group tours - which we’re planning now for certain cities - you’re not to go anywhere on your own, even with Sam, without my express permission. Your contract clearly gives me the power to enable such restrictions when I feel it’s in the best interests of this group. And right now, that’s exactly the case.”

“You don’t trust me,” Dean stated clearly.

“No, I don’t. That’s why I’m having Michael be present for every conversation between us from now on so he can document everything objectively in case either of us have to take legal action against the other, for any reason. This is to protect both of us. Additionally, I want-”

“Sir, please, I-”

“I want you to seriously consider the fact that I’m doing this for your own best interests. I’ve told you that before, but you don’t seem to believe me.”

Dean felt his temper growing exponentially; it was only a minute or two before he would blow up completely, and he knew it. “That’s bullshit. You’re doing this for yourself and your precious tour.”

Castiel glanced at Michael, who was busily making notes.

“Swearing at me is another violation of your contract, but I’ll let it go for the last time. Now, before we close this meeting, I want to read you a couple of snippets from the reviews of our concert in Boston.”

Nothing else Castiel had said or could say alarmed Dean more than this.

“No, sir. Don’t. I’m gonna-”

“ _Dean Winchester plays with the skill of an old master, the prescience of Nostradamus, and the energy of that battery-drum beating rabbit_.”

“Sir, _stop_ I can’t.” 

_“If he keeps this up, the public memory of his previous life will be wiped clean with the ease of a dry erase marker on glass.”_

Dean felt like crying all of a sudden. He hated, fucking _hated_ , being complimented like that in the same sentence that his past was brought up.

“I know you think I’m being harsh with you, Dean. But the public is harsher. You mess up again, there’s no bouncing back. You could have been arrested back in Boston if that had escalated any further, and what would they say then? Not sure what you’d consider more preferable at the moment - being in jail, or being lectured by me, but at least you’re free.”

“Free? I can’t even leave my hotel room in one of the greatest cities in the world!”

“Again, you signed the contract. You knew it was a possibility. My expectations for your public behavior were clearly outlined, and I warned you that even lesser infractions would have consequences. So please stop playing the victim card with me. When you have your own tour, you can mess it up however you want. But you’re not screwing up mine. Are we clear?”

Dean shook his head; one little tear escaped his right eye without him noticing. 

“I get it, sir. I do. But sixty days is a long, long time to be confined to a hotel room. I’m gonna go stir crazy. Can you just...I don’t know, take it day by day? Week by week?”

“Cas?” Michael butted in. “A word, please.”

They got up and went into the hallway, and Dean looked down at Castiel’s iPad. It was open to his emails, and every single one had the subject line, “Media Inquiry: Dean Winchester Incident at Boston Logan.”

 _Every. Single. One._ Each from different senders. _Fuck._ His brain went numb.

The door opened back up, and he straightened again. “Okay, Dean. We’ll start with twenty-one days. You can go now.”

“Wait, sir. I mean. Yes, sir. Thank you. Umm...fuck, I’m just going to admit it. I’m sorry, I just looked at your iPad. How does the media know what happened in Boston?” he demanded.

Castiel startled a little. “There was...you remember talking to a man behind you in the security line named Leonard?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Nice guy. What about him?”

Michael answered for Castiel. “Sure. They always are nice guys. Except that he was with the Daily Mail. He heard and saw the entire thing, including the bottle of whiskey. So we know about that too, by the way, even though Sam left it out. Leonard also reported everything you said to him about Castiel being a… an _incorrigable dick,_ as you put it, among other things. This is why you’ve got to stay out of public eye for a bit, Dean. Until this blows over. We’re lucky our new investors agreed not to pull out once they got wind of it.”

Dean looked in shock at Castiel, who was no longer meeting his eye but was instead staring down in intense focus at his iPad.

“Oh my god. Sir...I’m so...I can’t...I’m so fucking sorry-”

“Don’t, Dean,” he said without looking. “I don’t want to hear it. Just go.”

Dean looked back at Michael, who clearly had no sympathy whatsoever as he promptly inclined his head in the direction of the exit. So Dean made his way to the door, feeling exactly like a proverbial sack of shit, then stopped in his tracks when Michael called him back. 

“Don’t forget your violin,” Castiel said pleasantly. _Pleasantly,_ which was absurd under the circumstances. But that was Cas, you never knew what you were going to get from one minute to the next. 

Dean retrieved it and started to say something, but the brothers were already deep in review of the next day’s schedule. Michael glanced up at him and shook his head as if to say, _don’t you dare say a word, just go._

So Dean went, and then pressed his ear up hard against the door.

“That went well,” Michael said sarcastically. Then Castiel’s voice, lower but strong.

“Let’s look at this venue layout for tomorrow night. I can’t make out where the first row begins. Do you have the seating chart?”

“Wait, Cas. Don’t you want to talk about Dean for a second?”

“No. Never again, preferably. Do you have the seating chart or not?”

Dean stood back up and made his way down the hallway. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to go down to the lobby for coffee, and didn’t want to chance it right now. So he went back to his room instead and vowed to stay put and not complain for as long as it took to make this up to Cas.

Not that he ever could, but he was going to try anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who is losing hope in regards to Dean, I want to let you know this is officially his turning point in his poor treatment of Castiel and his brothers, and Sam. He’s actually learned his lesson and will improve drastically, very quickly.
> 
> If you are triggered by heavy drinking and lying, however, best to probably end the story here and pretend the rest of the chapters consists of fluffy clouds and ponies.
> 
> So please don’t leave me xoxo


	119. Chapter 119

The jet-lagged Dean was sound asleep when Sam finally returned to the room around 9:30pm that evening, a good 11 hours after he’d left.

“Hey,” he mumbled from his pillow. “How was the tour.”

“Lonely. Long. Cold. What did you do?”

Dean sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Practiced a lot. Got my ass handed to me by Cas and Michael. Practiced some more.”

Sam went into the bathroom and closed the door without responding. Dean flopped back down and looked at the ceiling with a sigh. He was feeling significantly calmer after his long chat with Bobby over a very expensive and lukewarm service dinner:

_Cas wasn’t going to tell me that reporters are asking what happened in Boston. I don’t get it._

_/He didn’t want you to worry, kiddo. Cas is the king of handling bad press, let him do his thing._

_Yeah, but Bobby...I feel horrible. What am I supposed to do? The things I said about him. I’m like, horrified. I’ll never be able to look at him again._

_/Did he ask you for an apology?_

_No, but I tried anyway. He wouldn’t hear it. What do I do?_

_/Keep playing your heart out onstage, and start adulting offstage. That’s what you do._

“Sam? You okay in there?”

The sound of the toilet flushing answered the question, and Dean went back to thinking again.

_/The thing is, kiddo, Cas knows he’s a dick. He’s just not used to anyone calling him out on it._

_*Ding, ding*_

Dean popped back out of his covers and grabbed his cell phone, hoping upon hope it was Castiel texting him. 

_\- Goodnight, and thank you_

It was from a very familiar 310 number. Dean was so surprised that he actually had to search for the phone number in his emails to double-check who it was from. _Holy shit….this is from Cas?_

_\- I’m not sure what you’re thanking me for, did you mean this for someone else?_

The reply failed right away. So yes, definitely Cas. He brought up his email app and quickly sent the same message to his boss, adding that he couldn’t reply to the text due to be being blocked, and received an answer in less than a minute.

_\- Our investors made it clear your performance was the reason they bought in. I was thanking you for that. Sorry for being unclear._

Dean didn’t know how to answer. He waited long after Sam emerged from the bathtub and got into bed to finally make his reply. _Glad to hear, that’s amazing. Sorry to be presumptuous, sir, but perhaps you should unblock my number in case of an emergency._

_\- Your emergency contacts are Bobby and Michael._

Well, shit. So much for the warm and fuzzies. And so much for sleeping, too. He had already been out cold for five hours, there was no hope of drifting off again. Sam was breathing heavily now, hard asleep, so Dean got up to get his laptop and logged into his anger management program for the first time.

Then he nearly laughed out loud because step one was to “reach out to two people who cause you the most aggravation and thank them for something they’ve done for you.” So Cas was in the same program, apparently. Dean picked up his phone and texted Gabriel.

_\- Hello. Just wanted to thank you for making me switch to a new violin. Charlie wouldn’t have cut it on this tour at all. Sorry I was a punk about it._

_\- Hey. What’s going on across the pond? This is the third text in a row I’ve gotten with someone apologizing to me. Did you guys accidentally become Canadian or something?_

Dean chuckled to himself.

_\- Michael put some of us in an anger management program yesterday. Sorry to tell you, but step one is to “reach out to someone who aggravates you and thank them.”_

_\- Ha. Figures. Heard what happened in Boston. You gotta do better, Dean._

Dean raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t expected Gabriel to be so chatty, especially since they weren’t on very friendly terms the last time they saw each other, but he was going to take advantage of it for as long as he could.

_\- Can I ask you a really personal question? You don’t have to answer_

 - __Ok__

  _\- Does Castiel hate me?_

\- __No__

  _\- I know I owe him everything. But I can’t just stand there and let him treat me badly. I don’t have that history that you guys do. You know?_

_-Yes. He knows too, Dean. We talked about it today_

  _\- Ok. Are you aware he won’t even let me talk to_

Dean jumped as his phone vibrated in the middle of typing the response; it was Gabriel calling. He quickly got out of bed and creeped over to the bathroom, then got in the stall shower for more soundproofing.

“Hello.”

“Hey. It’s Gabe. Delete those texts between us.”

“What? Okay.”

“Do it now and then we’ll talk.”

Dean went back to his message list and swiped them out completely, double-checking to make sure they were actually completely deleted.

“Okay, it’s done.”

“Good. It’s 2am there, a bit jet lagged I’m guessing. Listen, Cas doesn’t hate anyone. He’s got a shitload of pressure on him and he doesn’t handle it well. Never has. He absolutely does not hate you, we’ve talked about this time and again. He-”

“I know, but-”

“But nothing,” Gabriel interrupted. “Listen to me and don’t interrupt. I had quite the come-to-Jesus chat with him today, about three hours or so. My cell phone bill is going to be hellish, we should have Skyped. Anyway, Cas is in a really dark place right now and we all need to support him through it. I’d like to request that you honor him by doing exactly what he asks, without complaint, until he comes out of it.”

Dean waited at least ten seconds to answer so that he couldn’t be accused of interrupting. “What do you mean a dark place? Is he okay?”

Gabe sighed. “He’s always had trouble finding happiness. Long story short, I’m bringing his therapist with me. By the way, everything I’m telling you now stays between us.”

“Of course.” Dean felt like crying. “I...is there anything I can do in the meantime?”

“Yes. Leave him alone, do what he says, and focus your energy one hundred percent on your playing.”

Dean nodded, although Gabe couldn’t see it. “He grounded me like a teenager.”

“For good reason, too. Be thankful you weren’t on tour a few years ago, when his entire string quintet and most of our backstage crew got themselves arrested in Budapest for drinking at an illegal nightclub that we’d been specifically forbidden to visit in our trip handbook.”

“Jesus. What did he do?”

“He came with me on the bus to retrieve them from the police station, paid their fines, then fired them all on the spot as we drove back to the hotel. _Then_ he sued every single one of them for violating their contracts and won. Total PR nightmare, but he still says he doesn’t regret it.”

Dean sucked in a breath. “Oh my fucking god. So...so wait, he just canceled the tour, like that?”

“Of course not, that’s what alternates are for. You have two, you know.”

Dean swallowed hard. “I know.”

“So I’m just saying, it could have been a lot worse. That fact that you’re still there despite everything proves he doesn’t hate you. He sent his harpist home last year for less. Hell, he fired me this year for even less than that.”

 _Fuck_. “So...sorry to ask, but just...just give it to me straight. When you talked today. Did he mention that? Firing me, I mean?”

“Yes, he did. Several times. By the end of the call he decided against it for now, but you’re absolutely deep within the danger zone, Dean. He’s not just being an asshole for the sake of it. You really have pushed your luck way too far already.”

Dean was weeping silent tears, but he didn’t even notice. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucked up. I’m guessing the only reason he’s keeping me is because of the good reviews.”

“That’s a huge part of it, yes. You’re doing amazing, and he needs you. Badly. The investors who are interested in you is another big reason. But there’s only so far you can take this before he says _fuck the reviews, fuck the investors, you’re done._ I’ve seen him do it before with much less hesitation. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Dean nodded and wiped his eyes.

“Dean?”

“Yeah. Sorry. Hearing you loud and clear. I’m gonna make this right. Thanks for calling me.”

“No problem. See you in a couple days. Stay out of trouble.”

“Will do. Thanks.”

Dean hung up and took a long, hot shower to help get himself back together and clear his mind. Then he got back into bed at 3am pulled up his anger management program again, and worked on it until he fell asleep with his laptop resting on his belly and his mouth hanging wide open.

 


	120. Chapter 120

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wee bit of fluff for those of you who keep telling me it's too stressful to read this story. #SorryNotSorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you things would get better.

It wasn’t a long ride the next morning to the grammar school in Croyden, but to Dean it felt like an absolute lifetime and a half. He had abandoned his stronghold in the back of the motorcoach in favor of sitting two rows behind Castiel, after citing intense car-sickness, and was watching his boss intently out of the corner of his eye. Every time Cas shifted his position, Dean saw it. Each time he got up to go to the refrigerator in the back, Dean monitored every step and listened to every word said on his journey.

He only looked up once, hoping to make eye contact, then lost his nerve at the last second and dropped his gaze back to his laptop to continue working on day two of his anger management program. _Step Two: List a few reasons for your anger and justify them in one sentence._

Dean had filled in the box with said reasons, which currently numbered about 25 although he only intended to list a few. Some to do with his dad, some to do with Sam, but the rest were all because of Castiel and his brothers, and Chuck. 

_Number 26: I’m a pathetic loser_  

He looked up as Sam walked up and sat across from him across the aisle. 

“Hey,” Sam said, very low as he leaned over, presumably to avoid Castiel listening in.

“Hi.”

“I just want to show you something on Twitter. Don’t freak out, okay? It’s a good thing. It’s a tweet from the Boston Globe, actually a reply to someone else who asked about your, um, incident.”

Dean nodded reluctantly and shut his laptop, then took the iPad like it was going to explode.

_Here in the states we’re not as versed on the comically inept nature of the Daily Mail - referred to by Brits as the Daily Fail - and we also know the less than friendly nature of our TSA agents at Boston Logan. 1/3_

“Okay. How is this a good thing? And what does the one-third mean?”

“Oh my god, you’re such a grandpa. It means one of three tweets. A thread. Never mind. Scroll down to the second one.”

_Our counterparts in London have assured us time and again we can treat Daily Mail reporting as “rubbish,” and that is why we are declining to report it as actual news despite your requests to treat it as such. 2/3_

Dean didn’t meet Sam’s eye. “But...it wasn’t rubbish.”

“Keep reading.”

_In the unlikely event everything being reported by Mr. Smith is actually true, we Bostonians can probably come together and agree that the elder Winchester’s strong words were well-deserved, and he should perhaps be forgiven outright. 3/3_

“This doesn’t make me feel better at all, Sam! Are you serious?”

“It should! Jesus. Keep your voice down.”

They froze as Castiel stood up and changed chairs to sit diagonally across from Sam.

“Let me see it.”

Sam nodded and handed over the iPad. Dean remained still, not looking at either of them while he tried to calm his pounding heart as Castiel silently scrolled through the feed.

“Sam,” Castiel said quietly as he handed the iPad back. “I know your intentions are good, but try not to stir the pot if you can help it.”

“Sir, I’m not showing him any reviews, like I promised. This is different.”

“Go back to your seat, please.”

Dean peeked out under his eyelashes to see Sam about to protest, but he fought it back and nodded, his mouth twisting a little at the effort to not argue. He got up and left, while Dean dropped his eyes again and turned to look out the window. He hoped Castiel would say something, but when he glanced back over his shoulder, he was gone.

Dean suddenly remembered he hadn’t Instagrammed in a few days, so he pulled out his phone and waited for something interesting to pass by. It took a while, but they eventually stopped at a red light that was adjacent to a large, old windmill. Dean snapped a few pics from his angle, then higher up to focus on the raindrops on the glass, and carefully chose a filter that would make it look as dreary as he felt.

He started to post it, then stopped and looked down at this laptop. One leg was crossed underneath it, his red and white Chucks and Ninja Turtle socks peeking out from beneath his jeans. So he impulsively snapped a photo of his lap instead, with the Macbook perched on one knee. Then he captioned it: _Taking care of some paperwork on the way to Croydon for a clinic with a local youth orchestra. My favorite part of the job (the kids, not the paperwork)_

Then he posted it, and he was actually...really happy with it? No doubt it would get some shitty comments - they were always inevitable - but it was the most authentic thing he had posted in weeks. The obnoxious stage photos, the tourist photos, the silly dressing room photos...none of those had made him smile. This one did, and it wasn’t even that good of a picture.

He sighed and looked out at the scenery again, and heard every raindrop hit the window in time with his own shower of negative thoughts. A few minutes later, he angrily picked up the phone and opened the Instagram app in order to delete the post.

He stopped himself when he saw his notifications. Castiel had “liked” the photo. Dean was confused at first, then surprised, then pleased. That hadn’t happened before. He clicked on Cas’s profile and gasped as he scrolled through his stream of photos. They were extraordinarily fucking good. He quickly hit “follow,” then chose a few photos to like. Not too many, though, so he wouldn’t look like a stalker.

The most recent one was a selfie taken at night in the garden of their hotel among a few lanterns, and had the “moody” filter that Dean almost used earlier. It was also one of the few photos with a caption:

_Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light._

Dean smiled, then typed his first ever comment on Instagram.

“Did you seriously just quote Harry Potter? Dude.”

A minute later, a notification of a response. “No. I seriously just quoted Albus Dumbledore. Dude.”

Dean laughed out loud, and he could swear he heard Castiel chuckling up front. Or maybe not; his imagination did tend to work overtime occasionally. Probably not. 

Okay, definitely not. _Hopes too high, settle down._

Either way, Dean felt himself relaxing a little, and he might have even been happy for a moment.


	121. Chapter 121

_...was not expecting a brash young man from California with a criminal background to bring me to my feet here in the ritzy Royal Albert Hall, yet there I was..._

_...should already be well on his way to booking a solo tour for next year, if he hasn’t already…_

_...rumors of Dean Winchester’s unsuitability for a tour with the legendary Castiel Novak appears to have been greatly exaggerated…_

_...still not certain if Novak was really supposed to be the star of this show; clearly he is becoming more of an opening act for his fiery violinist…_

“I wish I could show him these reviews, Bobby,” Sam whispered from the couch of the suite in London he was sharing with his brother. “If he wouldn’t just lose his freakin’ mind everytime he gets a compliment-”

“He’ll get there, with time. Be patient.”

Dean cracked his eyes open to the absolute bare minimum, just in time to see Sam flail his arms around. “Well right now he’s just frustrating the hell out of me. He has no idea of all these accolades. No idea what social media is saying about him. It’s like living with a child. No, worse than that. He’s like the boy in the plastic bubble, remember that stupid movie?”

“Calm down,” Bobby whispered back. “You’re going to wake him.”

 _Too late,_ thought Dean with an internal groan.

“By the way, is Cas still caning him?”

“Not that I’m aware of. I told him I didn’t like it, but he wouldn’t talk about it.”

Dean closed his eyes again in pain.

Sam didn’t seem convinced. “You would know though, right, more than anyone?”

“Yeah, I would. Haven’t seen any signs of that at all, and it’s not like it’s easy to hide. Why, do you think he is?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know. He’d better not be, that’s all I’m saying. It’s so messed up.”

“Well, if he is,” Bobby said philosophically, “that’s an arrangement between him and your brother that both of them would have to have in writing. So there’s nothing you can do about it, anyway.”

Dean peeked at Sam again.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I know he needs his ass beat every now and then. I almost did it myself at the airport. But Cas is way too strict with him and I don’t like it.”

Bobby shrugged. “Like I said, it’s between them. And you’re not exactly Mr. Obedient yourself, you know.”

Sam laughed bitterly. “Yeah, but I don’t put the entire tour at risk with my brand of bullshit. Dean’s losing weight, did you notice? And don’t even get me started on his eating habits, or lack thereof-”

“Hey,” interrupted Dean abruptly, in a false sleepy tone as he stretched like he had just been awake for a few seconds, not half an hour. “What time is it?”

Sam came over to the bed and set a coffee on the nightstand. “Hi, sorry. Was just about to wake you. Coffee.”

“What time,” Dean repeated blearily. 

“Just after nine. We have a meeting at 10:30, but we need to do our post-concert reports first since there won’t be time afterwards.”

“Submitted mine last night, so I’m gonna sleep for another hour. Thanks.”

“You did? Like...completed and everything?”

“Yes, Sam. Completed and everything.”

“Wow. I’m impressed.”

Dean rolled back over and pulled the covers over his head; suddenly he didn’t want to hear anything else his brother had to say.

\----------------

“The only issue I had with last night was the fact that we’re still scrambling what to do for encores,” Castiel mused thoughtfully. “I guess we need to just suck it up and plan for one every night.”

“What about Dean’s partita?” Bobby asked. “There should be some consistency. Either he does it every night, or he doesn’t.”

Everyone turned to look at Dean, but he stayed silent.

“What are your thoughts on that, Dean?” Castiel asked.

“Thank you for asking, sir. I feel uncomfortable about playing it only because this tour is not mine. It’s yours. My opinion is that either you should play the encore, or all three of us should play it.”

“Yeah, but your name is the one they’re chanting,” Sam put in abruptly.

Dean looked at his brother sharply, but held his tongue. _Step three: congratulate yourself every time you don’t give in to being provoked._

_Congrats, Dean._

“I enjoy playing it, of course, and I’ll do whatever you want,” Dean added, perfectly polite.

Everyone was silent for a minute, then Castiel made the decision himself. “Very well. If your name is being chanted and you still have enough energy, you’ll play it, and then we’ll play the Fauré immediately afterwards to close out the concert. That way we’re always ending with the three of us. Do you all agree?”

Dean looked at Sam and smiled a little; it was meant to be encouraging, but the way Sam reacted was not what he expected. His brother looked away and rolled his eyes.

_Holy shit….Sam’s jealous._

Silence in the room again. Dean’s heart broke a little as he felt an unexpected gap widening between himself and Sam suddenly. 

“Wait, sir,” Dean said quickly, before the subject could be changed. “I’m sorry, I...I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to play it. We...I just...”

“You just what?” Bobby asked, a little more impatient than was probably warranted. “Spit it out.”

Dean took a deep breath and counted to ten. “Fine, I’ll just say it outright. I feel guilty about all the attention I’m getting, okay? And I don’t want to hog the stage. It’s not fair to you guys. That’s all.”

“Alright,” Castiel said, his tone unexpectedly rude and short. “Clearly we need to just end with the Fauré for now until you get your self-esteem in order, if ever. But there’s one more item we have to discuss, then you and Sam can go so that I can talk to my team about other things that don’t involve you.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Dean said quickly, feeling unhappy and a little surprised that he had upset Cas.

“We have admirers at the stage door every night, and some of them are openly complaining that you aren’t there to greet them. If you’re not going to play the partita, we have to satisfy them some other way. Otherwise the perception is that you’re too full of yourself to go meet your fans, and I'm not sure they're wrong.”

Another stab to the heart; Castiel was being brutal this morning.

“What he means is that their perception is their reality,” explained Michael hastily. “We all know that’s not why you avoid it, Dean. But-”

“I’ll do it,” Dean agreed immediately, against every instinct in his body that told him not to. But at the moment he’d do anything to stop Cas from being pissed off at him for even a second longer.

“That’s settled then,” said Castiel, satisfied at last. “We’ll leave for the train in thirty minutes. Sam and Dean, you can go.”

\---------

“Wow, who pissed in Cas’s coffee this morning?” asked Sam as he and his brother waited gloomily in the lobby for their little contingent to regroup.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed quietly. “Really shitty of him to take a shot at my low self-esteem. What a dick. Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“Yeah?”

“The other day. At the briefing that I missed, Bobby said something about Cas defending me about the airport incident. I was curious if he misspoke.”

“Nope. He did. Actually, he wasn’t nearly as mad about it as I expected him to be. No love for the TSA either, apparently. You missing the dinner was what infuriated him.”

Dean picked at a piece of loose fabric on his violin case. “I just...I appreciate you defending me as well, that’s what I was going to say. I mean, I assume you defended me. You saw how that asshole treated me. And didn’t know the difference between a guitar and a violin, even worse.”

“Yeah, what a douchebag.”

“Hmmmm.”

Sam cleared his throat. “What were you going to ask me?”

“I...nothing. Hate to tell you Sammy, but Michael and Cas know you didn’t tell them about the bottle of Jack. I was curious if they said anything to you about it.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I know. Cas fined me. Told me via email, of course, because he’s Cas.”

“Um, right. So in the meeting, why was he defending me? I mean, was Michael saying shit about me? Or Bobby? I guess I just want to know why he felt the need to do that.”

Sam was silent, and Dean had his answer.

“Great,” Dean huffed. “I get the picture. Thanks, Sam. Appreciate it.”

“Oh come on, Dean. You fucked up so bad, it’s not even funny. You’re welcome, by the way, for not telling them about your massive drinking problem. If you hadn’t struck up a conversation with the Daily Fail, it still would be a secret. So don’t blame that shit on me!”

Sam abruptly picked up his bag and his cello and headed towards the exit. 

Dean didn’t follow him.

\-----------------------

“Bonjour! Welcome to Par-eeee,” Gabriel greeted the group at the train station in Pas-de-Calais. “Our ride is out front and if we don’t hurry, our grumpy driver is going to leave us behind. Come on.”

Castiel walked up and gave him a hug, then shook the hand of the woman he was with, whom Dean guessed was his therapist by the fact that he didn’t introduce her to anybody. Dean climbed first into the Mercedes Sprinter Van and took the backseat, and Michael slid in next to him. The doors in the rear opened up and Dean glanced behind him to see Sam irritably loading his cello in; the enormous hard case he was obliged to carry around for the tour was awkward and heavy. Cas sat in front of Dean with the woman, and Bobby and Gabriel got in the very front row while Sam came last and was left with shotgun.

“Cozy in here,” Gabriel said mischievously. “Get your hand off my thigh, Bobby.”

“That ain’t my hand, darling,” Bobby answered drolly, and a welcome cascade of laughter rippled throughout the van as it pulled away from the curb. Dean noted with his usual resignation that Castiel was the only one who hadn’t laughed, and indeed, his face was suddenly lined with the darkness that Gabriel had mentioned a couple days ago. 

He pulled out his phone and opened Instagram to find a new post from Castiel taken on the train. No caption. Dean liked the photo, then looked over at Michael, who was somberly scrolling through Twitter. So much for conversation on the way to the hotel; he certainly couldn’t strike up a chat with Cas or the therapist.

To his surprise, the woman reached back over the seat and stuck out her hand. “Hey, Dean. I’m Ellen.”

“Oh, hi. Nice to meet you.” Dean gratefully shook her hand back. She had a crinkly, kind smile, but there was a bit of a no-nonsense look on her face as well. “Welcome to Paris,” he added lamely.

“Thanks, hon. Heard a lot about you.”

 _I’ll bet you did_ , Dean groaned internally. “Don’t believe any of it,” he forced himself to say with a grin.

“How long’s our drive, Cas?”

Castiel looked annoyed. “Forty five minutes or so?”

“Good. Dean, I want to hear all about you from your perspective. When did you start playing violin?”

\--------------

“And then Sam, after all his macho stomping around, picks up the bat and promptly splits his pants the moment he swings for the piñata.”

“Oh my god, Dean,” Sam moaned from the front seat as Ellen and Michael started cracking up.

“In front of _everybody_ ,” Dean continued as he laughed, too. “And I’m like, rolling on the ground trying to catch my breath because I’m dying laughing. And dad, he comes running out of the house, yelling and hollering, thinking Sam hit me with the bat.”

“Dean-”

“So he hauls me up and looks me over, and I kid you not, I had pissed my pants from laughing so hard.”

“Dean!” Castiel exclaimed, shocked. “This story is not appropriate.”

“Oh it’s fine, you poop,” Ellen laughed, smacking him on the arm. “It’s hilarious. Go ahead, Dean.”

“I was twelve, sir, like I said. Not like it was yesterday. So anyway, dad goes over to Sam and cracks him on the butt a couple times and I’m still laughing too hard to tell him what’s going on, but then he sees the split in his pants and realizes what happened.” He paused as everyone laughed a little more. “And I go, dad, he’s eight, and I’m twelve, you really think he could knock me out? But before I can finish the sentence, Sam comes over and pops me in the nose with his little fist, sure as shit, and knocks me out flat. Point made, birthday party over. Dad womped him good and put him in a corner for hours after that, split pants and everything. I cried way more than he did, though. He was a tough kid, hard as nails.”

Dean looked up at Sam, who was bright red in the mirror. “I’m gonna kill you, Dean. In your sleep, tonight.”

“So anyway,” Dean continued to Ellen, “Yeah, it was your typical brotherly rivalry in our house growing up. We had a lot of fun in between our fights. Our dad definitely had his hands full. Poor man, rest his soul.”

“Sounds like it. So do you still have the violin you played as a kid?”

“No, ma’am. I sold it earlier this year.” He didn’t look at Gabriel. “It went into a really nice collection, so that’s good. It’s being taken care of.”

“But not being played?”

“Not to my knowledge.” Dean shifted uncomfortably. “Gabriel might know, it’s his collection.”

“We haven’t assigned it to anyone yet,” Gabe replied, giving no indication he was perturbed by this line of questioning.

“That’s a shame,” Ellen answered with a shrug. 

The van suddenly stopped, and the driver announced “Hotel du Crillon, monsieur.”

“Merci,” Castiel replied, and he continued speaking in perfect French as the driver spoke back, and the van moved again and pulled up to a side door on a different street. 

“Alright, we’re here,” Castiel said. “Everybody out.”

Dean watched him with awe, and when it was just the two of them left in the van, he started to say that he didn’t know he spoke French. But then he remembered he wasn’t allowed to talk to him unprompted, so he said nothing and silently climbed out behind him. 

He was surprised to see Sam smiling while he was pulling out his cello.

“What’s up, Sam? Happy that you have a reason to kill me now?”

“Nah. It actually was pretty funny. I’d almost forgotten about it.”

“Well I haven’t. You almost broke my damned nose. But I’m sorry for embarrassing you.”

Sam set his cello on the ground and pulled his bag up over his shoulder. “Nah. The humiliation was kind of worth it, I guess. Nice to see you laughing for a change.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. I don’t think Cas was amused, though.”

“What else is new.”

The brothers stopped talking as Ellen came up to them and gave Sam a hug. “I’m staying at a different hotel, fellas. But I’ll see you around in the next few days. Try not to kill each other.”

Then it was Dean’s turn for a hug, and he leaned into it hard, and perhaps held on for a little longer than she had intended. Fuck, but he missed his mom. And Lisa. To be held by any woman, actually - how long had it been? Too fucking long.

“You okay, hon?” Ellen murmured into his ear, and Dean instantly released her in embarrassment.

“Yeah. Thanks, it was nice to meet you.” He looked around, they were out of earshot out of the rest of the group. “I mean, no, I’m not okay. But I’m okay. You know? I…I don’t know anymore.”

“What’s your number?”

Dean gave it to her; she didn’t write it down. 

“Okay. I’ll check up on you later. Be good.”

“Yes, ma’am. You too. Wait, I mean…”

Ellen laughed and got back in the van as Dean fought back his blush. Then he followed his colleagues into the hotel, smiling the whole way.

“You good?” asked Bobby as they got off the elevator.

“Yeah, Bobby. I’m good.”

Sam followed him into their room and went straight into the bathroom. Dean automatically checked the minibar; it hadn’t been emptied. He quickly pulled out four tiny little bottles of liquor and dropped them into his pocket, rearranging the rest of the contents to make it looked untouched.

Then he immediately texted Chuck a photo of the open fridge.

_\- Me and Sam just walked in. Hotel didn’t do the thing_

_\- Yeah there was a last-minute room change. Thanks, I’ll send them up now_

_\- Thanks. See you guys at dinner_

 


	122. Chapter 122

_\- Dean, please come see me immediately. Room 415_

Dean nearly choked as that text came in while he was brushing his teeth before bed. He ran back into the room and threw on his clothes while Sam watched in amusement.

“Fire drill or something?”

“Chuck just texted me to come see him. Sounds like it could be bad.”

“At 9pm? Sounds like a booty call to me.”

Dean bit back a reply and reached down to tie his shoes. “I’ll be back shortly. Hopefully more alive than dead.”

\---------

Chuck answered the door with a frown. That didn’t bode well, and a little bit of bile quickly rose up in Dean’s throat.

“I’m glad you weren’t asleep,” Chuck said gravely. “But sorry to bother you all the same. Want to sit?”

Dean stayed standing and accepted the sheet of paper the man handed him. “No thanks, I’m good. What’s this?”

“That’s your preliminary room bill, which got escalated to Castiel by the hotel manager. This isn’t normal, and no one’s spying on you, just so you know. I only review the hotel bills once a week with the accountant back home, and Cas normally doesn’t pay any attention to them. Anyway, the reason the hotel got involved is because at 2:15pm yesterday you texted me about your minibar being full, so I sent someone up to remove everything. They’re now disputing that it was full when they got there. Apparently, at 2:14pm, the unit automatically registered the removal of four bottles.”

“Yeah.” Dean’s hands shook as he handed the sheet back. “I took them and didn’t tell you.”

“Okay. Off the record, it appears that you were never going to, either.”

“Ummm.” Dean’s knees suddenly swayed a little, and he regretted not taking Chuck up on his offer to sit down.

Chuck nodded. “Don't tell me. Keep the bill, that’s your copy. Just so you know, pretty much every hotel we’ll stay in has this type of minibar technology. You can’t get around it.”

“Got it. Thanks. Wish I’d known that, but I’m not used to fancy hotels.”

Chuck took a deep breath. “So, Cas wants to know whether or not you took them, and if so, why didn’t you tell me to charge them to your personal account at the time. If you hadn’t taken them, we’d just tell the hotel it was an error and adjust the bill. They wouldn’t question it. Not with Cas.”

Dean hesitated as his heart skipped a few beats. “I’m curious why he put you in the middle of this instead of Bobby. No offense intended, so please don’t take it that way.”

Chuck nodded again. “None taken. I don’t think he ever thought about getting Bobby involved. To him, it’s just a question of whether the hotel made a mistake or you did. Or Sam, for that matter. I just happened to ask you first.”

“But it’s something else now, isn’t it?”

Chuck sighed a little. “It doesn’t have to be something else. If you say you forgot to tell me, you get a little slap on the hand from me and accounting, and it’s done with. Then I’ll move it off the master bill to your personal account, just like everything else that gets charged to a room accidentally. We’ve all done it, even Cas. But if you tell him what I think is the truth, that takes it to another level altogether. I don’t want that for you.”

Dean felt nothing, somehow, despite his alarm. Chuck’s offhand manner was keeping him calm, for which he was already extremely grateful.

“So you’re telling me to lie?”

“I’m telling you not to volunteer any unnecessary information.”

“I assume that if I tell him the truth, he’ll have me pack my bags and go to the airport?”

“I don’t know, Dean. Probably, yes. But that’s not for me to decide. Look, you’re not forbidden to drink on this tour except at certain times. You know that. And we empty the minibars on every single tour, for everybody, so nobody singled you out for this. I think I’m more confused than anything as to how this happened. You didn’t have to hide it.”

 _Except_ _from Sam_. Dean tapped his leg with a twitchy hand. “I didn’t know you emptied them out for everyone.”

“You assumed it was just you? Well, you know what happens when you assume.”

Dean nodded. “I make an ass out of you and me. Got it. Do I need to go see him, then?”

“Are you ready to?”

Dean nodded, and fought to steady his breathing.

“Okay. Tomorrow at 9am, go up to room 801. He’ll be expecting you.”

“Fuck. I don’t want to. Is he going to kill me?”

“No. He’ll just ask you the question, and you’ll answer it. Simple. Want to practice your answer on me?”

“Yeah, uh. That would be great. Okay, ask me the question.”

They went back and forth for a minute until Dean was completely calm and ready.

“Okay. Thanks, Chuck. Sorry he put you in this position. Really awkward, but I appreciate the way you handled it. You’re...you’re a good dude.”

Chuck looked at the door. “You should hurry. And Dean? Yeah, I am a ‘good dude.’ So next time you want to make up shit to hide something from me, don’t.”

\------------------------------

“Come in, Dean. Need to make this quick, we’ve got to get on the road.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I received an email from the hotel manager last night. He thinks somebody in your room took four bottles of whiskey out just before they emptied the minibar, and that our account should be charged for them. Is he correct?”

Den felt like he was making a final statement prior to his execution. “Yes, sir. I took them.”

“Okay. Then let Chuck know you were intending to pay for them and forgot about it. I’m not going to give you a hard time about it because we’ve all done it once or twice, but if you become a repeat offender we’ll have to-”

“Sir,” Dean interrupted, his chest heavy with dread. _Fuck._ Cas always knew when he was lying, always. But somehow Dean didn’t want to lie. He wanted to tell the truth, no matter what it cost him. 

“What?”

“I...I wasn’t...um.” Visions of being sent home in disgrace filled his head suddenly, and his throat burned.

_Fuck, out with it, coward._

_No. Save yourself, coward._  

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I just wanted to apologize for...for my forgetfulness.”

Cas’s expression was unreadable. “Forgiven. You seem far more upset than you should be. There’s no need to blow this out of proportion.”

_If you only knew..._

“Okay, sorry. I feel like I can’t do anything right lately, that’s all.”

Cas smiled just a little. Barely. A minim of a smirk. “Believe it or not, the worst offender of this rule is me. So I feel very hypocritical having to take you to task for it. Tell Chuck we talked and I said to transfer them to your account. Remember in the future to immediately notify him if you inadvertantly charge personal things to the room, so that I don’t have to get involved again.”

_The future? What future? I’m so fucked._

“Sir, I…”

“Keep it together, Dean. This is over and done with. You're fine, this is nothing. Big day ahead of us.”

“Sorry. I can’t seem to get back on your good side. I’m trying, though, but I just-”

“You’re 26 years old so I have no intention of babying you through this. Get over it. I'm not telling you again. Clear?”

Dean nodded numbly. Fuck, but Castiel could be a beast sometimes.

“Good. We’re going to be late for the bus. Let’s go.”

\------

Dean felt in his pocket for the little bottle as he stood behind Sam and his cello to get on the bus.

_Still there. Thank god I didn’t leave it anywhere for Sam to find._

The enormous motorcoach rolled up and Dean tried not to look as Castiel sidled up beside him to talk to Bobby. He didn’t hear anything they said, or anything Sam had said.

“How long of a ride is this?” Castiel asked.

“Ninety minutes or so, boss. And we have some food on the bus this time, since that breakfast was over so quick.”

“Thanks. Dean, go ahead and get on, and grab some food.”

Dean walked to the door and climbed in. He set his stuff down on his new favorite seats and took a tight hold of his sweatshirt as he made his way down the aisle into the bathroom. Then he stood over the toilet, just looking at it for a minute and thinking of nothing. Feeling nothing. Maybe slightly dissociated, like he was watching himself from a few feet away instead of actually living this nightmare.

After checking behind him to make sure the door was locked, he pulled out the little bottle and screwed off the lid, then held it over the toilet. Just one little tip would send it all away, never to be consumed. It would be an amazing start to his new journey. He was grateful for having escaped this total disaster. Chuck’s intervention was crucial, and his only way to repay him was to be able to take that first step. 

 _Just dump it out._ So easy. So refreshing, and…yes, he was going to do it. Pour it into oblivion. Go cold turkey. This was it, end of story. _Make this right. For Cas. For me._

The bus was starting to bounce from the weight of everyone boarding, one after the other. He angled the ounce of whiskey towards the toilet and tipped it even further over, and started to pour.

But then the bottle quickly found its way to his lips, and he ended up emptying it down his throat instead.


	123. Chapter 123

_\- Just checking up on you. This is Ellen. You doing ok?_

Dean had been wondering how to reply for almost half an hour, and now he was out of time. The bus was pulling up to the American School and it was time to face the music, literally. His contract forbade him from drinking 12 hours before any performance, but for the first time ever, he had violated it spectacularly. He wasn’t feeling well at all; a mixture of guilt and carsickness seriously messing with his mind and body. If he was perfectly honest with himself, though, one ounce of whiskey couldn’t really affect him as much as he thought it was. Less alcohol than a few pints of beer. He knew this was psychological, but the more he told himself that, the worse he felt.

_Jesus Christ. I’m a fucking mess._

Another problem altogether was what to do about Chuck. The man knew what he knew, and he couldn’t un-know it. Dean had been a lot of things in his life, but “thief” was never one of them. Until now. The fact that he had paid for the bottles in the end did little to console him, and he had laid awake all night due to his crushing guilt of originally having planned to swipe them unnoticed. So in the past few hours, he’d convinced himself Cas already knew and was waiting for him to confess. After all, the text he had sent with the picture of the minibar would damn him outright if Chuck turned on him again. Maybe he already had, and Benny was on the way, and this would be Dean’s last hurrah.

In short, Dean Winchester was right about being a fucking hot mess, and by the time he had to get off the bus and go play a concert for a bunch of diplomat’s kids, he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“Dean, do you have a sec?” Chuck said to him as he stepped off the bus. “Wanted to get back to you on that scheduling thing we talked about. I think I figured something out.”

They talked about no such thing, and Dean’s heart seized up a little. But he played it cool anyway, because everyone was within earshot. “Yeah, that would be great. Thanks.”

They strolled quickly towards the school’s front door after making sure everyone else was busy gathering their stuff, and Dean braced himself for what he was sure was some kind of pending blackmail attempt.

“What’s up?”

“Just want to confirm you deleted those texts to me. Show me your phone.”

“I...what? No, I haven’t yet. Have you?”

“Of course!”

Dean was thoroughly confused all of a sudden. “So you’re not gonna...hold it over me, or blackmail me, or anything?”

Chuck grimaced. “Nice. Thanks for that. Let’s see how well that would go over with Cas. ‘Boss, look what Dean did! By the way, I hid it from you, too. Don’t worry, I’ve already booked both our flights home.’ Really? Jesus Christ, Dean. You’re smarter than that, come on.”

“Sorry,” Dean replied sheepishly. “Point taken.”

Chuck pulled out his phone. “Look. It’s gone. Show me yours.”

Dean did the same, and swiped on the message thread to delete it entirely. “There. Done. Look, I guess I just...okay, I’m grateful and everything, but _why_ didn’t you just turn me in? It’s not like we’re BFFs or anything. I’ve been a huge pain in your ass since day one. I’m struggling with this, sorry, I know how crazy it sounds. ”

“You struggle with a lot of things,” Chuck observed blandly.

“Thanks for that, Captain Obvious,” Dean groaned. “Fuck. Cas is watching us.”

“Because he would have sent you home, plain and simple, and with the stress he’s under right now that’s the last thing he needs. Okay? Can we just _not_ discuss this ever again, and will you _please_ stop fucking everything up? Because I’m usually the person he takes it out on.”

Dean nodded calmly, although he felt like bursting into tears. His phone had just dinged with another notification - another unusual cheeky comment from Cas on his latest Instagram photo. The nicer Cas was to him, the worse he felt.

“10-4. Thanks, Chuck. I mean, for clarifying that schedule issue. I appreciate your help.”

He fell back and looked for Sam, then walked alongside him.

“Hey.”

“Hey. You guys okay? Looked like you were getting a bit heated.”

“Yeah, well you know Chuck. He’d argue about the color of an orange.”

Sam nodded. “Hmmm. Speaking of orange, your face is red. What’s up. Don’t lie.”

“Not gonna lie to you, Sammy. I feel like shit right now. Something I ate, maybe.”

“Bullshit. You haven’t touched food in almost a day. Try again.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “This is like the worst time to antagonize me, Sam. Come on.”

Twenty minutes later they were waiting off to the side of the school’s auditorium to go onstage. While Cas was deeply engaged in conversation with Sam and Bobby, Dean discreetly pulled out his phone to text Ellen back.

_\- Is there a good time we can talk tomorrow?_

\-------------

“Hey, kiddo,” Bobby said as Dean emerged from the classroom after his clinic. “Need to talk to you for a sec. Let’s head to the bus.”

Dean braced himself; for what, he didn’t know, but fuck did he hate when conversations started that way.

“Yeah, of course. I need to piss first, hang on.”

Dean went into the school’s bathroom and threw cold water on his face; it did little to improve his color and it certainly did nothing whatsoever to reduce the bags under his eyes. He sighed and went back out to the hallway to meet up with Bobby again, and was glad that they were completely alone on the walk back to the parking lot.

“How much did you sleep last night?”

“Not enough,” Dean admitted calmly. 

“Thought so. You were a bit rough on those kids. Haven’t seen that side of you before.”

Dean flushed with shame; the memory of him barking at a shy 14-year old for taking so long to tune a string came rushing back to his conscience. “Yeah, I run out of patience pretty quickly when I’m sleepy. Guess the jet lag’s finally caught up with me.”

“Okay. Well, we can’t have that again. These kids aren’t responsible for your mental health. Neither is anyone else for that matter, except maybe your dad, and he’s not here. So buckle it up.”

Dean nodded. “Sorry, Bobby. You’re right.”

“Cas mentioned to me that you were distracted during the concert and not at your best. The last thing you need is him doubting your playing ability right now, so buckle that up, too.”

“I will. At least I have some time to sleep before the concert tonight.”

“Not until you have a full meal. Sam said that you haven’t-”

“Why the fuck is everyone ganging up on me today?” Dean stopped in his tracks and angrily spun around to face Bobby. “I’m tired, so sue me! Jesus Christ.” 

“Calm down-”

“ _Surprise_ , I’m not Superman. Sorry to disappoint you.”

Bobby’s eyebrows raised. “Knock it off, Dean. This martyr complex crap ain’t gonna work on me.  You don’t want to talk? Fine. Get on the bus and zip it until you do. _Now._ ”

Dean had a retort on the tip of his tongue but managed to hold it back. It wasn’t until he had stomped up the stairs and cussed out loud to himself several times that he realized he wasn’t alone; Castiel was already in the front row, looking at his iPad. 

“Sir,” he greeted, choking slightly; Castiel probably had seen the entire argument with Bobby and perhaps overheard some of it as well. But the man gave no indication of being perturbed, nor did he say anything back, so Dean passed by him and flopped into his seat. His phone buzzed yet again; Ellen had just answered his text:

_\- I’m flying to Munich with you guys tonight and staying in the same hotel. Want to have breakfast before your meeting? Or after? I know a great place near the hotel_

Dean groaned internally in embarrassment. 

\- _Ok so this is awkward, I want to...but I can’t go out_

_\- Gotcha. I’ll talk to him and see if we can meet in the hotel’s coffee shop_

_\- No wait, please let me handle that. I’ll get back to you shortly_

Dean knew he would have to go to Bobby for the okay, not Cas, but he decided to wait and not ask until later. Maybe after he had slept, and had a good meal, and was feeling a little less drowned in the pool of guilt from his liquor bottle incident.

Then, another text from Ellen a minute later:

    _\- Something on your mind that can’t wait? I’m free now, just waiting for my daughter_

_\- Yeah. But I don’t know if you want to talk to me after all. I’m so messed up_

_\- Why do you say that_

_\- I lied to Cas this morning and the guilt is killing me_

_\- How big of a mess would it cause if you told him the truth now_

_\- Huge. He’d send me home. I don’t know how much you know about my situation but I can’t afford to lose this job. And not only because of money_

No response for at least a minute; Dean was sweating bullets. Why he trusted this woman so implicitly after an hour of conversation he couldn’t say, and the fact that she was Castiel’s therapist should have made him be far more cautious. But he couldn’t help himself, there was just something about her that he couldn’t resist.

_\- I don’t want details but at least tell me why you feel you couldn’t tell the truth_

_\- I stole from my minibar. Basically. But then I paid for them so it wasn’t stealing. But it’s still making me crazy that I didn’t confess when he asked me. Told you I was messed up_

_\- So I assume this is a drinking problem, and not kleptomania_

_\- Correct_

No answer again for several minutes, and now everyone was climbing back aboard to return to the hotel. Dean ignored his growling stomach and watched his phone like his life depended on it. But he had to look up when Cas stood and addressed the team from the front of the bus.

“Everyone,” Cas began. “I’ve decided we’re going to stop for lunch on the way back. There’s a restaurant about 20 minutes from here. I expect you all to have a full meal and eat healthy, because we’ve still got the rest of the day ahead of us.”

_\- My advice is to tell him about the drinking problem. Don’t mention the stealing. Ever._

“After we return to the hotel I want everyone to rest up. Stay off your phones, your laptops-”

_\- He’ll send me home regardless. I might as well go the full monty and get it off my chest_

_\- No he won’t. Dean, he’s been touring for 20 years. He’s seen everything._

“-5:30pm we’ll meet to proceed to the venue.”

Dean put his phone down in a panic. He couldn’t tell Cas. Not right now, at least. And he didn’t want Ellen tempting him to do it. There was too much at stake. So he never asked Bobby for the okay to meet with her, and stopped responding to her texts.

\---------------------------

FIVE DAYS LATER - Copenhagen

“Sammy, bring me back some local hooch. I need a drink. Here’s some money.”

“Wow, okay. Just out with it like that, huh?”

Dean irritably flopped onto his bed. “Dude, I’ve been grounded for a week, give me a break. Going crazy.”

“You haven’t asked Cas to reconsider?”

“When? He literally hasn’t looked at me in four days. Not since he popped off on me at our post-concert debrief in Paris.”

Sam nodded. “Well, he wasn’t wrong. You weren’t yourself that day at all, good reviews or not. I think he was just worried about you and it came out all wrong.”

“He humiliated me in front of everyone, Sam! And then you know what he did afterwards? He commented on three of my Instagram posts like nothing was wrong. Trying to be funny. I’m about ready to block his sorry ass. This is so fucked up. I can’t believe he won’t let me talk to him.”

“Remember what Bobby said. He’s not in a good place right now. Give him a break, okay?”

Dean huffed. “Yeah, like the way everybody gives me a break when I’m ‘not in a good place?’ I know he’s been down, but shit, that’s no fucking excuse to go off on me like that. And I didn’t see anyone jumping to my defense, did you?”

Sam shook his head. “When he gets like that, I don’t think even God himself would say a word in your defense. Sorry, but it’s true.”

“A lot of good his fucking therapist is doing right now,” Dean grumbled. “He’s just getting worse and worse.”

“No, he’s not.”

Dean looked up. “What?”

Sam crossed his arms. “He’s not getting worse. At all. You’re getting more sensitive, that’s what it is. Cas is the most calm we’ve ever seen him except for that one incident. You said it yourself, he’s commenting on your posts, trying to be funny. I guess that’s his way of reaching out and saying everything’s going to be okay.”

“Oh my god. You can’t be serious.”

“I am. You’re completely wrong, Dean. Sorry to say it. Actually, no I’m not sorry. You know what I think the problem is? Actually you’ve already said it. You need a drink.”

“Yup. And you need to get laid, Sammy.”

Sam threw up his hands and turned to grab his jacket. “You’re a fucking child. I’ll be back in a few hours. Keep your money. It’s the wrong currency anyway, dumbass.”

\------

“Hey, Chuck.”

“What’s up?”

“Letting you know I have a few charges on my bill to be moved over. The room service guy wouldn’t take cash because I only had Euros on me.”

“No problem. Hang on.”

Dean leaned back against his headboard and tipped the rest of his third bottle of beer into his mouth. 

“Okay. Got my spreadsheet open, hit me.”

“Six bottles of Carlsberg at 45 krone each.”

There was a short silence on the other line as Chuck did the math. “Okay. I’ve noted it, thanks.”

“We’ve still got 13 hours before my next performance, so I don’t need your fucking commentary.”

 _Pause._ “Wasn’t going to say a word, Dean. I downed some Brennivin myself about 15 minutes ago-”

“Yeah, but you were thinking it.”

Dean hung up the phone, then reached over and grabbed a fourth bottle.

\-------------  
“Oh my god, Dean,” Sam said softly the next morning as he scrolled through his email. “These reviews from Munich are fucking amazing. I really wish you wouldn’t be so afraid of reading them.”

“I have a headache.”

“Yeah, no wonder. This local beer is really strong. I’m regretting the two I had. Hey, listen. This one guy from a German paper says there’s an opening in the Berlin Philharmonic. Not sure if he’s joking, but they’re looking for a new concertmaster and apparently they reached out to Cas to try to get a hold of you. That’s fucking amazing.”

“Hmm.”

“I’m really proud of you, Dean-”

“Save it, Sammy.” Dean sat up and threw his covers off. “I gotta take a shower.”

\---------------

Oslo, Norway - City #12 of 70 - Five weeks into the tour

_Four._

_Five._

And it was only intermission. Dean didn’t give a shit. He was playing so well and felt he didn’t need to look at Castiel for cues anymore. So he didn’t. _Fuck him and his smug know-everything ass._

_Eleven._

_Twelve._

The curtains closed after the encore and Dean made a beeline for his dressing room without waiting to be dismissed.

“Dean,” Sam said as he arrived a minute later and closed the door behind him. “Holy shit, you were on _fire._ Dude. Great job.”

Before Dean could respond - not that he was going to - the door opened back up and Castiel poked his head in. 

“Dean, need to talk to you for a sec. Come with me.”

“Oh, looks like I do exist after all. Good to know. Can I change first?”

“No. Now.”

Sam felt Dean’s eyes on him as he stalked out and followed Castiel to the other, larger dressing room. He was mildly surprised when Cas not only closed the door behind them, but made a point of locking it, too.

“Okay, Dean. I’ll give you one chance to explain what that was all about.”

“And then you’re going to cane the shit out of me, right?”

“You better believe it. Start talking.”

That set Dean back on his heels a little; he hadn’t expected Cas to go on the attack so quickly. But then his anger and frustration came surging back again with a renewed vengeance.

“I played my ass off. And I’m going to get great reviews, and I’m going to do it all over again in a few days, over and over and over. And that’s what that was all about. Any questions?”

Castiel shook his head a little, his face was a picture-perfect definition of resignation. But not surrender.

“Alright, Dean. I didn’t want to do this here, but we’ve officially reached a breaking point. I’ve been leaving you alone-”

“ _Ignoring_ me _._ ”

“-ever since I apologized to you for blowing up on you that day. But it was over three weeks ago. Almost four.”

“Yeah. And you’ve literally been ignoring me _since_ that day.”

Cas raised his voice. “I wanted to give you some breathing room. I thought you’d appreciate it, and I actually thought it was helping. But tonight...what the hell was that? You ignored every single cue I gave you-”

“I still came in on time.”

“Stop interrupting me. You’ve been rude to Bobby, to Chuck, to Michael. Don’t think we haven’t noticed. Look, I know it takes time to adjust to fame and that-”

“You know what, Cas?” Dean said, holding his hands out in a ‘come at me’ gesture. “It’s completely twisted that after all this, the only way you’ll communicate with me is over Instagram. For fuck’s sake, all these cutesy comments? Of all the passive-aggressive ways to try to keep someone in your grasp, that’s got to take the cake. You were my _idol_. And now I’m not allowed to open my mouth unless you do first, but hey, let’s banter on social media and pretend everything is okay to please our so-called fans. It’s bullshit. I’m done, Cas. I’m just _done._ I can’t do this. I’m your star attraction but you treat me like shit. So, fuck you. Good luck with Benny.”

Dean wanted to leave, but Cas was standing directly in front of the door like a monolith. And it was clear he was not moving. Nor was he saying anything, and apparently had no plans to.

“Are you gonna...can I go, please?”

“No.”

“So you’re gonna hold me prisoner. Great. Thanks, that’s really gonna help matters.”

Castiel uncrossed his arms. “I’m actually worried you’re going to hurt yourself if I let you go. So just take a minute or two to calm down and breathe.”

“Yeah, I’m a little hot under the collar, in case you haven’t noticed. But I’m not going to hurt myself, what kind of stupid shit is that.”

Castiel said nothing else at all, and Dean was left standing there, shifting uncomfortably as his former idol stared him down. And it wasn’t an aggressive stare, not at all...it was strangely calming, and against his will, Dean found his chest deflating and his hands stop trembling.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” he blurted anyway. “Nothing you can say will make this better.”

Still nothing. Dean wandered over and sat down on the couch, then pulled out his phone. No signal. He played with it for about five minutes, then shoved it back in his pocket and crossed his arms as Castiel slowly moved towards him. 

“I’m going to sit next to you, if that’s alright.”

Dean stared at him. “It’s a free country. Speaking of which, I’m leaving now.”

“Okay. Before you do, I need to tell you that I don’t manage my Instagram account. My new social media manager does. She’s the one who’s been making all the comments. I had no idea that the two of you have been... bantering, as you say, for a month. Gabriel made me hire her after I refused to do it myself.”

Dean was speechless in his surprise. 

Castiel sat down next to him, carefully, at a good distance, and kept his tone even and gentle. “I don’t even have the app on my phone, much less know how to use it. She gets the photos from me via text. I apologize sincerely for this situation. I honestly never even thought to tell you or Sam that it’s not really me on there. Not that I could have foreseen this development, at any rate.”

“Oh.” Dean could hardly breathe, and his face went bright red in embarrassment.

“For the record, she also handles my Facebook. It’s me on Twitter, though. Dean, I’m going to request that you don’t quit right now. I respect your reasons for wanting to do so, but just hear me out first. Everything you’ve just said has forced me to realize that your behavior tonight was a ploy for my attention. That my strategy of dealing with our inability to communicate properly was completely misguided.”

“Um.” Dean cleared his throat, but he couldn’t form any words.

Castiel looked away. “I don’t know how to fix this. Certainly not within the ten minutes we have before it’s time to stagedoor. I want to meet with you tomorrow in Helsinki for as long as necessary to at least come to an understanding before either of us does anything drastic.”

Dean shook his head. “You need to get Benny here, sir. I want to go home.”

Castiel looked at him again. “Home to what? The only place you’re headed is jail if you lose this job. For, what...a year and a half? And don’t tell me it’s better than this, because out of all the lies you’ve told recently, that would be the biggest.”

Dean startled a little at that. “I haven’t told any-”

“Yes, you have. Every single day for months when someone asked you if you’re okay, you’ve said yes. You are not okay. Neither am I. So that’s at least one thing we still have in common.”

“I’m fine.”

“Well, good for you. I’m absolutely not.”

He wasn’t, either. He was visibly distraught. Dean squirmed uncomfortably. “I just...shit, I need to tell you something. I have to, before it kills me.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry, I’ve just...I’ve got to get this off my chest. Those four bottles of liquor back in Paris? I was planning to steal them. Didn’t expect to get caught. Never knew minibars were so smart.”

Cas looked stunned. “Uh. Why are you telling me this? I never asked.”

“No, but you need to know. So in addition to being an alcoholic, I’m also now a thief with massive self-esteem issues and a boatload of grievances towards you, and your brothers, and hell, even my own brother. Honestly, I hate myself and sometimes don’t even know why I’m here. So before you ask me again to go to Helsinki, I need to know you’re okay with that.”

“Of course I’m not okay with it!” Cas shot back.

“Well that answers that, then. Time to call Benny.”

“No, Dean. You’re not getting away that easy. Be quiet and listen to what I have to say for a change.”

Dean actually did fall silent, so surprised was he by that statement. “Ok.”

Castiel took a deep breath and clasped his hands in his lap. “I’m not giving up on you, Dean. I know you want me to, because you don’t think you’re worth saving. And that makes me all the more determined to prove otherwise.”

“Why? What’s the point?”

“I don’t know. I honestly _don’t know_ why I care so much about someone who’s utterly determined to self-destruct in front of my very eyes, and who has given me so much grief and cost me so much money and a big chunk of my sanity.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I know you hate me, Dean, but-”

“I don’t hate you.”

“Then meet with me in Helsinki to find a way forward. And there’s always a way. We’ll start right now by me saying I forgive you for stealing the bottles and lying to me about it. Done, over with, never to be mentioned again. I know you’re not a thief. So now you can shed all that guilt that you’ve been disguising as anger and bravado.”

Dean couldn’t help it, he instantly dissolved into tears at those words. Castiel had hit the nail on the head with that one. _So much fucking guilt_ about lying to the one person who believed in him from day one.

Castiel didn’t move. “Dean, you have to pull it together. We have to stagedoor in a minute.”

“Can’t.” 

“Okay.” Castiel stood up, and hesitantly patted his silently sobbing violinist on the shoulder before handing him a box of Kleenex. “I gotta go do this thing. Back in a bit.”

Dean nodded, still not looking up.

Castiel left, and returned to his dressing room half an hour later. Dean was sound asleep on his couch, the box of kleenex overturned on the floor and empty. When the door clicked shut, he instantly awoke and sat up in alarm.

“Shit, sorry.”

“It’s alright. Are you going to the airport with us?”

“Yeah.” Dean rose to his feet as he rubbed his eyes. “Jesus. I’m starving.”

“Good, then all that expensive catering on the jet won’t go to waste. We’re leaving in ten minutes. Go get changed.”

“Yes, sir.” 

Dean impulsively stuck out his hand as he passed by Castiel, who took it tentatively and with an expression of surprise. 

“Cas...I know you didn’t ask for my forgiveness, but for the record, you have it. Sorry I was such a shit tonight onstage.”

“You really were.” Castiel cracked a very small smile. “But at least you finally nailed those triplets in Broken Glass.”

“Yeah, I did, didn’t I?” Dean didn’t smile back, but his eyes were suddenly brighter. “Only took six months. Anyway. See you on the bus.”

“Okay.”

Dean hesitated. “Um...Cas? You gonna let go of my hand, or…”

“Sorry.” Castiel released him hastily. “See you a few.”


	124. Chapter 124

Dean and Castiel both knew healing their rift wasn’t going to be easy or quick, and it was with a substantial amount of trepidation on both their parts that they proceeded into a private booth at the swanky Restaurant Ora in Helsinki. Dean hadn’t ever been in a place nearly _this_ fancy before, especially for lunch, and he felt completely out of place even in his best suit and tie.

The host staff didn’t give him a second glance, though, so he swallowed his self-conciousness and tried not to gape at the prices on the menu while Castiel ordered wine and discussed ingredients with the waiter. Dean didn’t bother to remark that perhaps ordering wine for an alcoholic wasn’t the best strategy; he didn’t have to drink it, after all.

Out of habit recently formed, he said nothing to Castiel and waited for him to speak first.

“These are dishes you normally won’t find outside of Scandinavia,” the man eventually said quietly. “Goose. Deer. Reindeer.”

Dean swallowed down the unpleasant lump that formed in his belly at the thought of eating Bambi or Rudolph. “I think I might go with the spaghetti squash. What is ‘sea buckthorn’?”

“Berries. If you can imagine a sour pineapple, that’s what they taste like.”

“Berries on pasta? That’s a first.”

“Not for the Finnish, and spaghetti squash isn’t pasta. Besides, Dean, this is a six-course menu. You’re not choosing anything.”

“I’m sorry?”

Castiel took a drink of water. “It’s a pre-fixe menu. A set menu, no ordering. We get a little bit of everything.”

“Oh. But I don’t...never mind. It’ll be good to try something new.”

He set down his menu. “I almost chose a burger place just to make you feel more comfortable. Maybe I should have.”

Dean smiled a little. “Depends. What kind of burgers are they? Penguin patties?”

Castiel cocked his head a little and said seriously, “There aren’t any penguins in Finland.”

“I was joking, sir.”

“Oh. Don’t call me sir here, please. This isn’t a business meeting.”

 _The hell it isn’t_ , Dean thought, but he nodded anyway and watched the sommelier do his thing. When he left the table, Dean looked at his glass dubiously.

“Would you believe I’ve never actually had wine before?”

Castiel shrugged. “I never tried it until I was your age. So yes, I believe it. Taste it.”

Dean hesitated. “Sir. Cas. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to.”

“That’s fine.” Castiel downed half his glass in about ten seconds and set it down as a waiter returned and took their drink order.

“Iced tea,” Dean answered, and was rewarded with an odd look from the waiter.

“Sir?”

Cas cleared his throat. “Dean, they don’t...uh, that’s not a drink you’ll find in Finland.”

“Oh, sorry. Iced coffee?”

Now the waiter looked positively scandalized, and Dean sunk back lower into the booth. “I’m sorry. I’m American and we’re weird. What do you recommend?”

“If you want something very Finnish, I suggest kaffeost. It’s coffee poured over cheese curds. Very tasty.”

Dean cringed and looked at Castiel, who shrugged. “When in Rome…”

“Sure,” Dean said with effort. “I’ll take that, and sparkling water. Water with gas, I mean.”

“Certainly, sir. Any food allergies?”

“No sir.”

Castiel said no as well, and the waiter pulled the dark velvet curtains shut. Suddenly they were all alone, and Dean imagined he could hear his heart beating in the heavy silence.

“Coffee over... _cheese curds_?”

“You’re braver than I am to give that a go,” Castiel said with a small smile. 

“Brave, or stupid? Jesus. I hope they bring a barf bag with it.” He picked up his spoon and pulled the starter soup closer to him. “Well. Bon apetit.”

They ate their soup in silence for a minute, not looking at each other.

“This is good,” Dean said.

“Hmm. I have to admit, Dean, I have no idea how to start our conversation.”

“We don’t have to yet, sir. Cas. With six courses we’ll be here until tomorrow.”

The waiter returned to set the kaffeost down and disappeared again. Dean picked up the mug and sniffed it.

“Smells like...coffee. Here goes nothing.”

Castiel watched Dean intently, and asked how it was even before he was finished taking his first sip.

“Um. It’s like french onion soup but with coffee instead of beef broth. I don’t know how else to explain it. Want to try?”

“Sure.”

Dean carefully handed the big mug over to him, and Castiel took a very tentative, dainty sip before grimacing and shoving it back over to Dean. “Vile,” was all he said, and he grabbed his water again to wash it down. 

“It’s not _that_ bad,” Dean protested with a grin. 

About half an hour later they were well into their third course before Castiel broached the subject again, this time with a little more fortitude.

“Dean, we both know this isn’t going to be fixed overnight.”

“I know,” Dean replied quietly. “This deer actually tastes really good. I feel so guilty for enjoying it. RIP Bambi.”

“But I want you to name a couple things I can do for you to help jumpstart the healing process.”

“Take me to a burger place and tell me I’m pretty.”

“Be serious, please.”

Dean looked down at his plate. “Sorry. I’m…wow. Really nervous.”

“Me too. And I know you cope with humor, but I can’t do that. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Um. This feels like the worst first date ever, you know? The kind where you wish your date would just bail on you and put you out of your misery. Ever had one of those?”

“ _Dean._ ”

“Sorry.”

Castiel laid down his fork and pushed his plate to the side. “Let’s start with Sam. How has he been trying to help you through this?”

Dean shrugged. “He hasn’t. He stopped giving me pep talks because I wouldn’t listen to him anymore. I think he gave up on me.”

“Okay. And has Bobby been supportive?”

“I’m sure he would be, but I haven’t opened up to him, either.”

“I won’t ask about Chuck and Michael, since I know you have a contentious relationship with them. Gabriel, even more so. That leaves...no one. You’ve had no one to talk to, is that correct?”

Dean nodded. “I started to talk to Ellen, but I chickened out after our first conversation.”

“ _Ellen_?” Castiel seemed stunned. “Why...how did that happen?”

“It just did. We hit it off right away, you remember that conversation in the van? But then I realized how awkward that would be hitting up your own therapist for advice on how to handle you. And I was afraid she’d tell you everything I said. So…yeah. That’s the gist of it.”

Castiel took another drink of wine. “I see. Well, Dean. I wish you would have asked me about this. She isn’t my therapist anymore.”

“Wait. What? Gabriel said he flew her out here to...therapize you.”

“He did. But she tried to romance me in Munich, so I fired her. It was highly inappropriate to make a move on a patient.”

Dean nearly spit out his kaffeost. “Are you nuts? She adores you, and she’s amazing. Oh my god.”

“That’s my business, Dean. My point is, if you still want to talk to her, you should. She’s never uttered a word about being in contact with you, so you can trust her completely.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.” Dean took another sip of his cheese coffee. Damn, it was actually pretty good. “You asked me what I need to start healing.”

Castiel nodded. 

“A lot of things. Don’t even know where to start. I need to apologize some more, for starters.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“It is for me. But not now. I need to make a list.”

Castiel nodded. “Sam seems to be highly unsupportive of your needs, from what I’ve seen.”

“Sometimes he is, sometimes he isn’t. You really never know what you’re going to get with him.”

“Would it help if you two didn’t have to share rooms anymore?”

Dean shrugged. “Honestly I don’t know. Probably. But that’s just a Band-Aid. I’m broken as fuck and there are a lot of things no one can help me with. Sorry, I’m really trying to stop swearing. Anyway, Bobby knew my dad. I should talk to him more. He knows a little about what he did to me, mentally.”

Castiel paled a little. “And physically, I assume.”

“You’d think so, but no. He was strict, but he was never abusive. When I turned 17, though…”

Dean’s eyes went glazed and far away, and Castiel poured himself another glass of wine. “You don’t have to tell me.”

Dean looked down at his hands. “Can I try some wine?”

Castiel hesitated, but picked up the bottle and poured a small amount. “It’s strong. Tiny sips.”

Dean downed the entire thing in a gulp. “I need to stop talking. You’re gonna think I’m trying to make you feel sorry for me.”

“Have you ever thought about taking anti-depressants?”

“Nope. Can’t combine them with alcohol.”

“Hmmm.”

“More wine, please?”

Castiel poured a little bit more. “So you’re telling me you’re beyond hope, am I correct?”

“Basically, yes. Why do you look surprised? Have you met me?”

“Dean, I...we came here to talk about solutions, not to reinforce your sense of despair. Talk to me, what do you _need_ to help you get through this tour without imploding? No, forget the tour. This goes beyond that. What do you need to get you through the rest of your life without imploding? I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”

Dean’s eyes were moist now, and he cursed himself for forgetting to bring Kleenex. He certainly couldn’t use the big fat black cloth napkins. 

“I need an apology from my dad that I’ll never get. Fuck him for dying before asking my forgiveness.”

Dean fell silent as two servers poked through the curtain and served the fourth course, and Dean poked at it for several minutes before speaking up again.

“Sorry. I’m sure you didn’t imagine our conversation taking this dark of a turn.”

“Not really, no. I might need another bottle of wine to get through this meal. Maybe the rehab center will have a two-for-one discount for us.”

Dean laughed a little. “You actually made a joke. I’m shocked.” Then he went quiet again.

They didn’t speak until the sixth course came through the curtain, some kind of lemon sorbet. Dean didn’t touch it.

“Dean,” Castiel said after taking a bite and grimacing at the tartness of the dessert. “I can’t bring your dad back from the dead. And he doesn’t have to be alive to gain your forgiveness, anyway. That’s on you. So don’t tell me again that’s what you need. It’s a cop-out. If you really want to move forward, give me at least one thing to do for you.”

_...he doesn’t have to be alive to gain your forgiveness…_

“I don’t know what I want, Cas,” Dean admitted after a long pause. “I don’t even know if I want to get better. I’m pretty good at this whole miserable schtick. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth.”

“Okay. Then I’m going to take the lead here, because I can’t bear to watch this without intervening. So, Dean? I know you want me to fire you. Hell, I know you’ve been _trying_ to get me to fire you, because then you say, ‘see? I told you so.’ Well, as of right now, that’s off the table. I am never, ever going to fire you, no matter what happens. The only way you’re leaving this tour is if you quit.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Yes you do. Secondly, I’m going to fly Ellen back out so you guys can spend some time together. We’ll have four days off before our next concert in Estonia.”

Dean rubbed his temples. “Yeah, right. You fired her and turned down her booty call. You think she’s just gonna up and fly across the planet for you now?”

“Yes, I do. I’ve known her for 10 years, Dean. By the way...I never said I turned her down.”

“You said...wait. I’m confused.”

Castiel smiled a little, and Dean was shocked to the core. Very pleasantly shocked. 

“Holy...are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“I did fire her, yes. As I said. And then I immediately accepted her dinner invitation, since the conflict of interest problem was then resolved.”

“Oh my god.” Dean’s grin lit up the booth. “You Casanova. Ha, see what I did there? Cas-anova. _Cas. Anova.”_

“Yes, I get it, Dean.” Cas was still smiling.

“You’re dating your therapist. Holy shit. What a rebel. I never pegged you for-”

“ _Dean_.”

“Sorry. Wow. Okay, so yeah. Sounds like a plan to me.”

Cas was serious again as he dug into the rest of his dessert. “She’ll probably bring her daughter Jo, who’s 22 and beautiful. If you even think of making a move on her, I’ll lock you in your room for the next six months.”

Dean laughed. “I would never. Because if you married Ellen, and I married Jo, that would make you my father-in-law. No way in hell.”

“You have a very vivid imagination, Dean.” Despite Castiel’s suddenly stern tone, his eyes were glinting with amusement, and a few moments laughter he laughed out loud for the first time ever in Dean’s memory.

_Castiel Novak. Just. Laughed._

_Holy shit._

“You know what?” Dean declared with finality after his shock had died down and he became somber again. “I think I just figured out what I need from you.”

“What?” Castiel’s expression instantly darkened.

Dean hesitated, then waved his hands around vaguely. “Can we do this more often?”

Castiel glanced at the bill that the waiter had set on the table with dessert. “Not sure I have the budget for it,” he said lightly. “You’re an expensive date.”

" _That_ right there, that’s what I meant. I don’t need the fancy food, or the wine,” Dean said hastily. “I mean...like, what the fuck? You make jokes? You laugh! I’m loving this version of you. It’s so refreshing. Where have you been this whole time?”

Castiel flushed a little. “I have a lot on my shoulders, Dean.”

“Yeah, I know. But you asked what I want from you? For the first time I just realized what’s been missing between us this whole time. An actual friendship. _That’s_ what I want.”

Castiel shook his head. “I can’t give you that. I’m sorry.”

“Why not? We’re both just human beings, are we not?” Dean was a little crushed, not having expected Cas to shoot him down so fast.

“I just can’t. I don’t want employees as friends. Or even friends in general. I always, _always,_ get burned. I’m sorry, but no.”

“But you’re actually awesome when you’re just being Cas, and not Castiel Novak The Legend. I never knew-”

“Too much wine on my part. You of all people should know how much alcohol can temporarily improve a personality.”

Dean’s eyes stung instantly. Hard. _Fuck_ , that hurt more than anything else Cas had ever said to him.

“Cas…” he choked out, so low that the sound didn't make it across the table.

“We need to go,” Castiel said quickly as he signed the receipt. “I can’t remember if tips are expected in Finland. Can you look it up for me, please?”

Dean whipped out his phone and googled it; the screen was blurry through his unshed tears. “Um, it says don’t tip if there’s a service charge included.”

“Thank you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of money, then unfolded some of the bills. “I’m going to walk back to the hotel. Here’s money for a taxi.”

Dean took it numbly. The hotel was two miles away, and it was snowing lightly. Castiel got out of the booth and slipped through the curtain. Dean followed him all the way outside even though his bladder was ready to explode and the bathroom should have been his first stop.

He followed Cas at a respectful distance for about half a mile, at which point Cas stopped walking and turned around to look at him. Dean wasn’t really sure what to do then; he couldn’t turn around, and it would look really bad to purposely take an entirely different route.

So he just kept walking, tentatively, until he was about 20 feet away. Then he stopped.

“Are you okay, sir?” he said loudly across the street.

“I’m fine. But my phone died and I don’t remember the directions.”

“Oh.” Dean quickly walked up to meet him and brought up google maps on his iPhone. “It’s tricky, lots of turns. If you want, you can take my phone and I’ll follow you, or you can follow me. Whatever you want.”

Castiel looked at Dean long enough to make him slightly uncomfortable. 

“Or you, I mean, I, can call a taxi for you,” he stammered as he reached into his pocket. “By the way, here’s your money back.”

“Thanks. Snow’s getting heavier. Let’s grab a cab.”

Dean immediately called, and a black car arrived in less than a minute. They rode back to the hotel in silence, but Castiel turned to Dean in the elevator and finally spoke again.

“Dean, I shouldn’t have made that comment about the alcohol. Please accept my deepest apologies.”

Dean nodded, his heart glowing like the New Year’s Eve ball in Times Square. “Forgiven. I mean, you weren’t wrong, so...”

“Doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have said it. There’s a seafood place across the street I’ve been wanting to try for four years straight. Haven’t gotten to it yet. If you don’t have plans tonight, feel free to join me.”

“That would be great. I’m sure they’ll have some interesting dishes, if this last place was any indication. What time?”

“I’ll make a reservation for 7."

Dean nodded as the doors opened to his floor. “7 it is. See you then.”

“Thanks. Looking forward to it.”

“Me too, Cas. Thanks for the invite."


	125. Chapter 125

With dinner one only hour away, Dean had completely changed his mind about going and having another roller coaster conversation with Castiel Novak. As he was prone to do, he’d been beating himself up for the past six hours over everything that had come out of his mouth at the table.

_I sounded so fucking desperate. Will you be friends with me? Like a first grader._

And referring to Ellen’s “romancing” as a “booty call.” 

_What the actual fuck, Dean…no respect for women these days?_

Joking about Castiel being his father-in-law. Etc. Etc.

He picked up his phone and called Bobby.

“Hey, sorry. Can you please give Castiel a message for me? Um, tell him I can’t make dinner tonight. Not feeling well.”

“Got it. Wait, he invited you to dinner?”

“Yeah.”

 _Pause_. “Didn’t you guys just have lunch?”

“Yeah.” Dean closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “It was an education in Scandinavian culture. Please, just...tell him the food didn’t sit well with me. Rudolph’s revenge, I guess.”

“I’m not even going to ask what that means. Feel better, kiddo. I’ll tell him.”

“Thanks.”

Dean hung up and impulsively called Ellen, even before he realized he was doing it. He had no idea what to say to her after ignoring her texts for over a month, but...something compelled him and he couldn’t stop himself.

“Hi Dean.”

Friendly? Sort of. But not...warm. Not cold, either. Businesslike. _Fuck, add another mistake to the pile..._

“Hi. Um. Ellen? Sorry, I meant to call someone else. Must have hit the wrong contact. Have a good day. Sorry.”

He hung up quickly, then wiped the sudden beads of sweat off his forehead. At that moment there was a knock on the door and Dean jumped up to open it. He couldn’t help but laugh when Bobby handed him an enormous bottle of Pepto-Bismol.

“Jesus, where’d you get this? Costco?”

“Yup. European food never did sit well with me, so I came prepared.”

“Um, thanks.” Dean looked at it dubiously, then pried off the lid and took a dose. An unnecessary dose, since he was feeling perfectly fine. 

“Your phone’s ringing,” Bobby said as he looked down at where it lay on the sideboard. “Ellen is calling. Why is Cas’s girlfriend...oh wait...shit.”

“No worries. I already know about them.” Dean handed the bottle back. “Thank you so much.”

“You gonna get that?”

Dean sent it to voicemail without responding, and Bobby looked at him aghast.

“You’re all sweaty. Have you been drinking?”

“Yeah, a little. I’m not fine.”

Bobby did a double take and crossed his arms.

“Sorry!” Dean corrected hastily. “Meant to say I’m not _drunk_. I’m fine.”

“You said you’re _not fine_.”

“Slip of the tongue. Thank you for bringing that down to me. I’m gonna take a nap.”

Bobby looked around the room suspiciously. “Where’s Sam?”

“Out. I would be too, if I was feeling better.”

“But you’ve got it under control down here?” Bobby looked skeptical, and Dean adjusted his tone to be even more casual, without trying to be flippant even though that’s what he really wanted.

Dean sighed. “Bobby, our concert is 14 hours away. So I could get totally wasted within the hour if I wanted to.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Do you need anything else?” Dean challenged irritably. “I’m not feeling good, as I said.”

“Well it’s no wonder, since you’re drinking on top of a stomach ache. Thought you were smarter than that.”

“Really? Thought you knew me better than that. I’m a fucking moron, in case you forgot.” Dean went to shut the door, but Bobby stuck his foot out and prevented it. “I need to sleep, do you mind?”

“Yep. I mind. Not exactly keen on you talking to me like I’m your idiot brother about to stick a fork in a socket. Let’s have a little chat.”

\-----------------------------

“So sorry I’m late, sir,” Dean breathed heavily as he reached Castiel in the lobby. “I had to run down the stairs because of the elevator outage. 19 floors.”

“I know. I’m glad you made the effort. Thought for sure you were going to cancel.”

“I was,” Dean admitted, looking Castiel directly in the eyes. He didn’t want to lose his trust again, especially if Bobby told him he had to force Dean to go. No shirking, no panicking. Not now, not here, not while everything was hanging so precariously in balance.

“Hmmm.”

Castiel started walking, and although Dean was fully prepared with a carefully scripted answer as for _why_ he was going to cancel, he didn’t have to use it. Cas didn’t ask, nor did he seem concerned as they crossed the street into the seafood place.

When they sat down, Dean was trembling a little. “I, um. I have to admit something else. I’m more nervous than I was at lunch.”

“Okay. Do you like octopus?”

“I...never had it.” Dean swallowed down his disgust at the thought of eating such an intelligent, fascinating creature. “Are all meals with you this adventurous?”

“Octopus it is, then. And we’ll try the sea urchin as well for an appetizer. And...dried kelp chips. Sound good?”

Dean gulped again. “Not really, but why not. I’m game.”

“Good. Do you like any of the entrees?”

“Sorry, I haven’t looked at them yet. One sec.” He opened his menu and desperately searched for something that wouldn’t be writhing around and trying to escape on the way down to his stomach.

Castiel’s phone rang, and he seemed to take a moment to decide whether to answer. Then he looked up at Dean. “I have to take this. Please excuse me.”

“No problem. You’re an important dude, go for it.”

Cas frowned at him - _fuck, Dean, don’t call him dude!_ \- and slid out of the booth. Dean heard him say hello to Ellen, and his heart instantly froze. He’d never called her back, nor answered her texts from an hour ago. She was probably telling Cas now _all_ about how his neurotic violinist had a freak-out and called her and rudely hung up, and now he might be missing because he’s not answering…

Dean didn’t have time to go full-on panic mode; Castiel was back in the booth within 30 seconds to continue perusing the entrees. 

“I’m sorry, sir. I hope she’s not mad at me?”

Castiel looked over the top of his menu and peered at Dean. “I’m going to try the fried muikken. Why would she be mad?”

Dean reached for his napkin. “It really was a butt dial. I just...okay, it wasn’t. I panicked.”

Now Castiel set his menu down on the table and folded his hands; his face expressionless. “Panicked about what, and why are your hands shaking?”

“I told you I’m nervous,” Dean replied defensively.

“That’s no excuse to take a tone with me. Calm down.”

“Easy for you to say,” Dean snapped, although he instantly regretted it. “Sorry, I...damn it.”

Castiel sighed and laid down his menu. “Okay, Dean. I’m going to put you out of your misery. Let’s go.”

He started to get up, and Dean gasped a little. “No, wait-”

Castiel completely ignored the entreaty, and Dean jumped to his feet to follow him. 

“Wait. Sir. I don’t want-” He paused as the revolving door temporarily separated them, then raised his voice as they ended up on the sidewalk again. “Stop. Please, sir. _Stop_.”

Castiel did stop, and Dean wasn’t expecting it, so he ran bodily into him before he could stop himself.

“Sorry,” he breathed as he stepped back and regained his balance. “I didn’t mean to call her. I should have written her back, but…”

“ _What_ are you talking about?” Castiel demanded as he flailed his arms about in frustration.

Dean blushed a little. “Didn’t she? She didn’t tell you. Oh.”

“Tell me what? That you’ve forgotten how to speak in full sentences?”

Dean zipped his mouth shut now; Castiel was angry, and absolutely nothing was going to help the situation no matter what was said next. He waited in silence and raised an eyebrow slighly to cue Cas to speak next.

“I’m afraid to ask, but what’s going on with you now?” he queried in apparent resignation, which didn’t help Dean feel better even one bit.

“I’m sorry,” he responded as firmly as he could manage. “I thought she was calling to ask you about me. Because I haven’t responded to her texts at all after I called her and then hung up.”

“Why would you do that?”

Dean shrugged and jammed his hands in his nonexistent pockets; he had left his jacket in the restaurant and so had Cas. “Because I’m a fucking coward, okay? What else is new!”

“Keep your voice down,” he ordered shortly. “She didn’t mention you called her.”

Cas turned to cross the street and Dean followed him a few steps behind, feeling more miserable than he had in...well, at least a day.

“Sir, I’m sorry. Will you _please_ stop walking away from me? We left our coats in the restaurant. I’ll go back and get them.”

“Thank you.” Castiel didn’t stop walking. “I’ll collect it from you in the morning.”

“Can’t we just talk about this? Come on.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

Dean couldn’t say anything; his throat closed up as Castiel disappeared into the hotel through the door that a valet hastily yanked open for him.

_Fuck. What now?_

Dean turned and went back into the restaurant to get their coats. Then, on a whim, he texted Chuck and asked for Castiel’s room number.

 _-_ __Why do you want his room number_ _

  _\- I have his coat. He said to have a bellman take it up to him_

__\- 401_ _

      _\- Thanks, goodnight_

Dean ordered the meal Castiel had decided on - the nasty appetizers, too - and had the sommelier pick out a bottle of wine and a dessert to go with it. Then he paid for it, and gave one of the servers a big tip to go deliver it across the street to the hotel, room 401.

_I may be a helpless royal fuck-up, but damned if I’m going to make Cas miss a dinner he’s been trying to arrange for four years._

Half an hour later he received a text just as he had gotten into the bathtub. 

_\- Thank you, Dean. That was very thoughtful_

_\- Least I could do. I’m sorry I screwed everything up. Again. Bon apetite._

_\- [Message Failed!]_

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes, then threw his phone across the bathroom and sank down until the steaming hot water closed in over his head.

\------------------------

**Oslo, Norway**

**“** So Dean, do you want to do the coffee shop thing, or go do a skinny dip in an icy lake, or…”

Dean grinned fondly at Ellen; she had been trying valiantly to put him at ease ever since he had gone to pick her up at her airport with Castiel’s driver. 

“Ma’am! I’m scandalized,” he replied in mock horror.

“Eh. It was worth a shot.” She elbowed him in the ribs.

“How dare you objectify me," Dean grinned, his body-wide tension suddenly evaporating without a trace.

“It won't be the first time. Where are we going?”

“Well, in Paris you mentioned wanting to go to the maritime museum, but it was closed for renovation. So I thought maybe the Norwegian Maritime Museum might help make up for that. And they have a nice cafe, according to their website.”

“Sounds great, kiddo. That was very thoughtful.”

 _That was very thoughtful._ Dean shuddered; those were the last words he’d heard from Cas, over three days ago.

“I haven’t really gone out much since we started the tour.”

“Yeah, you mentioned you were grounded. How long?”

Dean grimaced. “Originally for three weeks, then I pissed Cas off enough to get another week tacked onto that. I've been free for almost a week now but Helsinki wasn’t that interesting so I only walked around a little. This place, though? Really cool. Yesterday Sam and I went to the Viking Ship Museum, and tomorrow we’re planning to go to some art and architecture museum.”

“Hmmm. Sounds good. How’s Cas doing?”

Dean swallowed down his anxiety. “He’s been very quiet. Calm.”

“Mad at you again?”

“Yeah,” Dean admitted. “I’m normally the first to admit he has every right to blow up on me from time to time. But not this time. He overreacted. I don’t know what to do about it except give him space. So that’s what I’m doing.”

Ellen turned slightly to face him in the cab. “Dean, I’ve been counseling Cas for years. I can’t just forget everything he’s told me about you, but I want you to know that hearing your side is just as important as hearing his.”

“I know. That’s why I haven’t reached out to you, because I didn’t know what he’s told you.”

“I’m not here to mediate. I’m not taking sides. So don’t try to grasp for sympathy or pity, or try to get me to spill the beans about what he’s said to me in the past. I don’t work that way.”

Dean nodded, his heart aching a little. This wasn’t going at all the way he’d hoped. “Yes, ma’am. Sorry, then...do you not want to talk about him at all?”

“Are you kidding? I could talk about him for a month straight and still just be barely warmed up. He knows what a pain in the ass he is. He _knows_ and he’s trying to fix it. The one thing I will say about him is that he has a hundred percent faith in you to come around and redeem yourself. He’s never wavered from that.”

Dean laughed a little. “Right. He’s fired me a half-dozen times since we met.”

“Were any of them undeserved?”

“Well. No. I mean…”

“And he hired you back each time?”

“Yeah.”

“There you go.” Ellen turned to face forward again with a decisive pat on Dean’s knee. “Like I said. A hundred percent faith in you. The problem is - according to him - that you have zero percent faith in you. If that’s correct, we should work on that first.”

Dean looked out the window and watched the scenery passing by. It was a beautiful sunny day, but he felt they were driving into a hurricane suddenly. 

“No,” he said eventually. “What I want to address first is how to forgive my dad when he’s six feet under and can’t apologize to me first.”

“Ah. Apologize for something specifically, or for everything in general?”

“Something specifically.” Dean glanced at the partition glass in the car. The driver likely couldn’t hear him, but he wished he could be 100% sure of that. Ellen didn’t prod him; it took a few minutes for him to speak up.

“When I was seventeen. I came back late from a party and Sam was missing. He ran away. I was supposed to be watching him while dad was on a job. But it was my birthday so I stayed out late. Got drunk for the first time ever. Figured why not, he would never know.”

Dean took a deep breath and glanced at Ellen, who was listening passively and with interest.

“Anyway. Dad had come home to surprise me. When I walked in he was just sitting there on the couch, thinking me and Sammy were out together, and would be back together. But...when I walked in alone, and Sam was nowhere to be found. He was 13 by the way. I need some water.”

Ellen reached into the cooler on her side of the car and pulled out a bottle.

“Thanks. Dad waited until I was sober the next day to take off his belt. He was drunk though, ironically. So I’ll leave the details out on that one. When Sammy returned a few days later, he sent him out for food and then went after me again, even more drunk than the first time. I couldn’t sit down for a week.”

“I see. So he was abusive _and_ a drunk, huh?”

“Not at all!” Dean exclaimed. “I had _never_ seen him drink before until this incident, and he’d never abused us at all. That belt had come out before, but just to scare us a little when we did something really stupid. Barely even hurt. Turns out, according to Bobby, he quit alcohol cold turkey when Sammy and I were really little because he almost got us killed driving drunk. Didn’t touch another drop until I...until Sam went MIA on my seventeeth birthday.”

Ellen fell completely quiet. It wasn’t hard to imagine the series of events that happened next. She had seen and heard it all in her 30 years of family counseling.

“Anyway. Dad never looked at me the same again. Never treated me the same. And that hurt worse than having my ass beat to shreds twice in a row. In just one night I went from his Golden Boy to the cause of all his problems. He fell off the wagon that night, lost his job a short time later, his fiancee, his...everything. _Everything._ And he never let me forget it for a minute. He sobered up again when I was 23, almost 24, and almost pulled his life back together. At least until the bar fight in Pahrump did him in.”

Ellen was nodding, and her eyes were wet. “Do you consider yourself an alcoholic?”

“Yeah.”

“Since when?” 

“The day after my 17th birthday. Same as dad. I’m 26 now, by the way. Like father, like son...I also went down that road and lost my job - well, jobs, plural - my fiancee, and my everything, even went to jail a few times because of that day. But Sam just...he just soared after that and could do no wrong. Still thinks he’s the shit, and that I’m useless, because dad pitted us against each other for so many years. I’m sorry for upsetting you.”

She took the Kleenex that Dean hastily pulled out from the box on the console. “Don’t be sorry. It’s literally a job hazard and I expect to get my heart broken every once in a while. Go on.”

“So anyway, I just…he was so inconsistent towards the end. Proud of me one day, making fun of any success I had the next. I actually let him beat my ass again a few times because he made me think I deserved it. I cut him out of my life after he bribed my lawyer to try to get me put in jail for a year and broke my wrist. I’m so fucked up, you have no idea. All because of what I did that night.”

“What _you_ did...”

“So I just want him to apologize to me for losing faith in me. And I can’t ask him to do that anymore. The other day Cas said something, he said that it’s a cop-out for me to claim I need forgiveness, because I’m the one who has to give it and it has nothing to do with whether dad is alive or not. Do you believe that?”

“Depends on the situation. I think you were owed an apology, but Dean...you’re never going to get it. Ever, never. Even if you did, would you believe it? So Cas might be right.”

“I know.” Now Dean took a kleenex, just in case, but was mildly surprised to find that his eyes were still completely dry. God, but Ellen was so easy to talk to.

“So what’s the next step?”

“Okay, so. I need to find a way to do that. Let myself forgive him. And I have no fucking idea how to get there. Sometimes I just want to...I know this sounds horribly morbid, don’t judge me, but sometimes I just want to go dig him up and strangle him dead again for ruining me like that. And Sam? He’s not helping. The way he looks down on me sometimes. He’ll read me an awesome review one minute, then tear me down the next, then...rinse and repeat. And you know what? It’s not his fault. He was just a little kid. He still is, sometimes. Dad ingrained those opinions in him, but I haven’t really fought back until now. That’s why we can’t get along half the time.”

“But you’ve started fighting back. Why?”

“Because, I guess...” Dean shrugged. “I guess now that dad’s gone, I’m starting to see he maybe was wrong a little bit.”

“That’s a good start.” Ellen wiped her eyes again. 

“Not good enough. You know what happens whenever I get a compliment? I see dad smirking at me and shaking his head, as if to say _you’ve fooled another one, Dean. Don’t worry, they’ll figure out their mistake soon enough_. Every fucking time. I read one review that sent me drinking for four hours straight, so now I’m not allowed access to them anymore. Castiel actually banned me from that part of the debrief meetings, so I have to get up and leave when they start to discuss them. It’s all so fucking humiliating. Don’t even get me started on social media. I can’t decide what upsets me more, the insults or compliments. We’re pulling up to the museum. Are you hungry?”

Ellen smiled a little. “Starving. Hey, if you ever go dig up your dad, bring me along. I’d like to have a crack at him, too.”

Dean chuckled a little and relaxed. “Yeah. I bet you would. Anyway. Um, I also know you and Cas, are, he told me, that you’re, ummm….”

“Fucking? Yup.”

Dean blanched, and this time he really _was_ horrified. “I...I wasn’t gonna… _oh my god.”_

“It’s alright, Dean. We’re all adults.”

“I really did not need that imagery in my head. Good lord.” Dean found himself appalled and amused at the same time. “Where’s the mind bleach?”

The driver pulled open the door on Dean’s side, and he pulled himself out stiffly. Ellen got out and looked over at him across the top of the car and winked.

“Sure did take your mind off your troubles though, am I right?” Ellen laughed. “If you tell him I said that, though, you’re gonna be the next one who’s six feet under.”

“Yeah, I know. No, never. Holy shit. Let’s go eat...if I still have any appetite after that, anyway.”

Then Dean started laughing, and couldn’t stop until they had finished eating. By the time they finally entered the museum and started checking out the exhibits, he was the most relaxed he had been in many years.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he said quietly over a case of viking artifacts. “If not just for the laugh alone, at least for insisting on eating normal food.”

“I gather you’ve been out dining with Cas, then.”

“I have, unfortunately. Still grossed out about the whole sea urchin thing. I keep thinking about how the spines could catch in his throat on the way down.”

Ellen smiled, then gently turned him by the arm to face her. “I need a hug after that story you told me about your dad, kiddo. Sorry to ask. Would you mind?” 

Dean didn’t hesitate; he stepped forward squeezed her hard around the waist as a huge lump in his throat formed itself. She smelled amazing.

“Cas is a lucky man,” he said fondly. “He’ll be so happy to see you.”

“I’m sure he will, but he didn't ask me to come for him. He asked for you.” She released him, then smiled at his charmingly confused expression. “Now, speaking of grossed out, where are these Norwegian mummies you were talking about?


	126. Chapter 126

Dean had fallen quiet shortly after the hug, as Ellen predicted. She knew from long experience what someone with such low self-esteem was thinking. That he’d said too much. Been too vulnerable right off that bat. Made a fool of himself. After the revelation about dad, nothing else to say that could make that much of an impact, so why bother. That everything he said would get back to Cas. Or worse, if it did, nothing he’d said would make any difference to Cas anyway.

That he should have never said anything in the first place. That he’d rather be drinking somewhere, alone and safe in his own mind.

Ellen didn’t ask if he was okay; it would have forced conversation he didn’t want. She let him sort out his thoughts as they wandered from room to room, making small talk about the exhibits and giggling about some of the odd English translations on the plaquards. Only once did she leave him, in order to go into the women’s restroom and check her phone.

_\- Hi hon. How’s Dean doing_

_\- Never seen someone so excited about a turkey sandwich. You gotta feed this kid better_

_\- Looking forward to seeing you tonight. I found a place to have dinner, lots of interesting dishes_

_\- Great. Can’t wait to pull a John Hurt chestbuster in the middle of the night_

_\- I don’t understand that reference_

_\- LOL. I gotta back to Dean. See you in a few hours_

She exited the bathroom with a grin on her face and found Dean waited patiently a few steps away. He smiled tentatively at her expression, clearly wondering what on earth she could find so amusing in a public restroom.

“Hey kiddo. Sorry, I was texting Cas about dinner. Apparently he’s never seen ‘Alien.’ I’ve gotta educate that man on pop culture someday. Where to next?”

Dean was no longer smiling as they walked towards the stairs leading down to the lower gallery. “Did he ask about me?”

“Yes, he asked how you were doing. I deflected it and didn’t answer.”

“He’s going to ask later. You can’t deflect it to his face. What are you going to tell him?”

Ellen shrugged. “Dean, just as our conversations stay between you and me, my conversations with Cas stay between me and him. And I can assure you, they’ll be totally separate.”

“I know, I trust you, but-”

" _But_ nothing, Dean. Never mind my professional obligations to confidentiality; I would _never_ tell him anything to compromise your relationship with him, or yours with mine. Period.”

“Ellen,” Dean persisted in a shaky tone. “ _Please_. Just tell me what you’re going to tell him when he asks that question. And he will. I’ll never be able to sleep tonight otherwise.”

“Okay. Stop for a sec, you’re panicking. Look at me.”

Dean abruptly changed direction and retreated into an empty, more private area under the stairs. Ellen followed him.

“Dean, Cas already knows you aren’t okay. I know you aren’t okay. _You_ know you aren’t okay.”

“Will I ever be?” Dean blurted, his face a mixture of pleading and irritation.

Ellen took a deep breath. “You told me _one_ story. It would completely nuts for me to try to predict the rest of your life based on that. If even you can’t do it, how do you expect me to? Listen, kiddo. You’ve gotta stop looking ten years into the future, and start looking at tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. Hell, how are you going to make yourself okay enough to get through _tonight_?”

Dean looked away and scoffed. “I thought you were here to make me feel better.”

“We’ve been together less than four hours, Dean. I can’t undo 9 years of trauma in four hours. This is going to be a long-term deal, and we’ve taken the first step, but it’s not going to go very far. You’ve got a marathon ahead of you, and I don’t know about you, but I certainly couldn’t run 26 miles today for even a million bucks. Could you?”

Dean shook his head. 

“Healing yourself is like training for a marathon. You’ve got to train yourself to make better choices, whether it’s with food or drink or sleep, or whatever. Then you gotta push yourself, step by step, to make better choices in other areas of your-”

“Great. So I’ll be a hundred years old by the time I can take a compliment. Thanks, doc. Is Cas paying you for this, by the way? Or are you gonna bill me later? I didn’t ask for your help, just for the record.”

Ellen paused, her heart flopping just a little. “One good choice you could have made just now was _not_ to say something to deliberately hurt the person standing right in front of you.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Well you did, and yes, you _meant_ to, and I don’t appreciate it one bit.”

Dean sighed and looked down at the floor, shaking his head. “Sorry. See what I mean? I’m so fucked up. Why are you even bothering?”

“Why do you think?”

“Because Cas asked you to.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious. But _why_ did Cas ask me?”

Dean kept his eyes on the floor. “Because he…”

“I’m not giving you the answer. Say the first thing that came to your mind when I asked you that.”

“I was going to say because he cares, but then I realized it’s just because he doesn’t want the tour to fall apart.”

Ellen nodded. “Is it a crime if he cares _and_ he doesn’t want the tour to fall apart? Or does it have to be one or the other?”

Dean shrugged. 

“Okay. One thing I’ve learned about you pretty quickly, Dean, is that you like things in black and white. You don’t like the grey areas, and I have a feeling you can detect lies pretty easily.”

“Yes on all counts.”

“Okay. So let’s use facts instead of emotion to prove that he cares. He paid for your lawyer for your DUIs even after you refused his contract. He continued to pay for your healthcare after you quit for the umpteenth time so that you could afford physical therapy for your wrist. He had his brother step in to warn you that your dad was playing you and Sam, which then directly led you to getting house arrest instead of a year in jail. He even told you that if you left the tour, you would have a full-time job back at the center to keep you out of jail. There’s more where that came from. He has stood by you every minute since the moment he met you, which has cost him time and money and a crapload of bad PR. _Why_ would he do any of that if he didn’t care about you?”

“I don’t know!” Dean answered back hotly. “That’s the point. It makes no sense.”

Ellen reached out and held onto his forearm. “Calm down. We’re in a public place.”

“Sorry.” Dean wiped his eyes, took a deep breath, and sat on a bench near the water fountain. “I don’t know what to do. I just…he messed me up. Totally fucked me up.”

“Your dad’s not here anymore,” Ellen said as she sat on the bench across from him. "So you-"

“I’m not talking about my dad. I’m talking about Castiel! I was happy until he came along, and now I just...nothing makes sense anymore.”

That statement took Ellen’s breath away a little; she had not been expecting Dean to shift the blame for his current state from his dad to Castiel Novak. That was stunning, and a grave indication of a much deeper problem than she had anticipated. It took her a minute to find her reply.

“Dean, please explain what you mean by that. Did Castiel mistreat you somehow? Do something to you that you can’t forgive? If so, I need to know right now. Don’t beat around the bush. This is critical.”

Dean looked up, confused and bewildered. “Do something to me? No...I....”

Ellen was stone-faced, and Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He hadn’t even been thinking about the cane, if that’s what she was getting at.

“No, Ellen. Sorry, I think maybe you took that wrong. Or I said it wrong.”

“Please explain. Because my imagination is going pretty wild right now.” 

Dean gulped. “He didn’t do anything to me. He’s _said_ some really rude things, yeah, but...I guess what I meant is that meeting him threw my life into chaos. The moment he hired me, everything went to shit. My relationship with my dad fell apart, and with Sam. I got fired, got a DUI, lost everything.”

“And you think none of that would have happened if you hadn’t met Castiel Novak, huh?”

“Well...I just...it’s not like I _blame_ him for it. Not at all. It’s really hard to articulate how I feel sometimes.”

Ellen knew then what he was trying to say - _thank god I took that the wrong way!_ \- but she wasn’t about to spoon feed it to him. Dean was that kind of contradictory personality who would refute a suggestion automatically without ever thinking it through, just because it didn’t come out of his mouth first. This had the potential to be a breakthrough, though, and she wasn’t about to risk losing this narrative.

“I made you mad. I’m sorry,” Dean said simply, abandoning his train of thought altogether.

 _Fuck._ “Dean, as intelligent as you are, you’re surprisingly poor at reading people. I’m about as far from mad as someone can get. Please continue what you were saying earlier.”

Dean nodded sheepishly. “Sorry. Before I met Cas, I was comfortable with my situation. I was anonymous, happily employed, kinda sorta getting sober. I didn’t fight with Sam every five seconds. I just...I miss my old life, okay? As shitty and pointless as it was, I want it back. I know it sounds ungrateful, but it’s the truth. I didn’t spend so much time feeling sorry for myself back then, and...fuck, I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”

“I think I get the gist. You also said earlier that you didn’t fight for yourself back then, either. Do you miss that, too?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you miss letting Sam walk all over you as well? Because you mentioned you’ve started fighting back now when he mistreats you. You said it four hours ago, I know you remember.”

Dean nodded again. 

“Okay, kiddo. So I just want to make sure I understand. This is not an argument, it’s not an attempt to say you’re wrong, whatsoever. But here’s what I’m gathering. You miss letting Sam walk all over you. You miss letting your dad beat you. You miss your job as a teacher-”

“It was a great job,” Dean said defensively.

“Fair enough. You miss being in jail, by your own words - that’s not even a guess on my part. But most of all you miss the simplicity and ease that comes with not standing up for yourself, because it caused a shitload of trouble once Cas decided to make you feel like you were worth his time and attention.”

“Yeah. I know it sounds so dumb. I’m sorry.”

Ellen shook head. “That’s where I’m going to tell you you’re wrong. Feelings aren’t dumb. They just are what they are, and they’re always valid. So don’t trivialize your emotions again, please.”

“But I can’t help it. If I’d never met him...fuck, this is so complicated.”

“Yeah. It’s a freakin’ labyrinth of challenges to navigate, and right now I don’t even see the exit on the map. But look, kiddo. Like I said, this is a marathon. Have you realized anything new today that might help you decide what to do next, at least?”

“Dunno. Actually. I never...shit, believe it or not, I never even put the two and two together. That when Castiel started fighting for me, I started fighting for me, too, because suddenly I felt like I might be worth something for the first time in 9 years. But it turns out I’m not, so all of this has been for nothing and he’s just making a fool of himself trying to fix me.”

Ellen tried not to look away as Dean’s eyes went wet again, even though she was barely resisting the urge to flee into the bathroom and burst into tears. 

“It’s been a really hard month for me,” he continued quietly. “A hard year. I’ve been working on a lot of things, like my anger issues, sense of responsibility, paying attention to the details. I swear, I’ve gotten better. Especially as a musician. Even though Cas is an unreasonable, annoying, maddening pain in the ass most of the time, he’s really been…”

 _Say it!_ Ellen pleaded silently.

Dean threw his head back and sighed loudly. “I’m tired. Sorry. Can we go back to the hotel? I think we’ve seen everything here.”

 _Well, shit…_ Ellen nodded and forced down the lump in her throat with a big swallow. Dean had been so close, but veered away at the exact moment he should have admitted his problems weren't really Castiel’s fault, and that he needed to accept responsibility for fixing himself.

_Practice what you preach, Ellen...give him space...baby steps...this is a marathon..._

“Sure. Mind if I grab a coffee from the cafe first? I’ll get it to go.”

“Okay. I’ll summon the driver. Meet you out front.”

Ellen nodded and watched him walk away. He seemed taller all of a sudden, more sure of himself, despite his reluctance to admit his own part in all this. That could be a good sign. Or, it could just be her imagination.

She pulled her phone out as it beeped and buzzed with a new text.

_\- You never said how Dean is doing_

_\- I may have to stay a few days longer than planned. Hope you don’t get sick of me_

_\- That bad?_

_\- You’re supposed to say you’d never get sick of me, babe_

_\- Sorry. My concern is for Dean at the moment_

_\- I should introduce him to Jo. They’d churn out some adorable grand babies for me_

_\- Not until after the tour. Last thing I need is for him to be distracted by a girl_

_\- You’re probably right. He’s not good, Cas. But you already knew that. See ya soon_


	127. Chapter 127

Dean was totally silent on the way back to the hotel after leaving the museum. Ellen expected that, but knew he would apologize for his outbursts at some point. She made a point of being busy on her phone and turned it slightly towards Dean, just within his peripheral vision, so that he would see she was browsing her emails if he peeked over. The last thing she wanted was for Dean to think she was texting Cas everything that had just happened.

He wasn’t paying any attention to her, though. None whatsoever; his mind was far, far away as he was buried in his own phone. And what Ellen thought she knew about him was turned on its head when they arrived at the Sofitel. Surely before the doorman could open the door, Dean would turn to her and say sorry. He would absolutely express some kind of regret. Everyone always did when they acted like that, after all. Especially someone with a heart as big and broken as Dean’s. He would definitely be embarrassed about his behavior.

But that didn’t happen. He got out, hurried over to her side of the car to open her door, and remained completely mute on the way to the elevator.

“You okay?” she asked softly when the elevator started to rise.

“No,” he answered in an identical soft tone.

“Why not?”

“You said he never lost faith in me. I just remembered that he did. Michael and Gabriel vetoed him the last time he fired me. So if it was up to him, Benny would be here right now instead of me.”

Ellen nodded. “I see. So everything we just said was all for nothing and we’re back to square one?”

“Looks like it.”

“You said you don’t want to be unhappy, but you also said you are happiest when you’re not happy. You can’t have it all three ways, Dean.”

“Whatever.”

“Okay, now you sound like Jo when she was a teenager. Guess the conversation is over.”

Nothing. Dean didn’t react or say anything whatsoever, and Ellen sighed.

“Right. Well, this is our floor.”

Dean appeared to steel himself as the doors slid open. He stuck a hand out to keep them from closing again and turned back to her.

“Ellen, look,” Dean said sharply. “I get that your boyfriend cares about me. But I don’t want him to and never asked him to. The biggest regret of my life was going to that audition, because he made me a slave to this damned tour by turning me into his little pet project. I hate being here. Only did it for Sam. So no, I’ll never be happy, because _I never wanted this._ Okay?”

Ellen’s breath caught sharply at how completely flustered this outburst made her. When Dean turned around to stalk out, she followed him and immediately ran into his back because he had stopped in his tracks only a few feet away.

“Oh, fuck,” Dean breathed as he looked up at the person blocking his way.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel replied quietly.

———

“I’ve never told you that you owe me anything,” Novak said calmly. “Until now. I want an explanation. Sit.”

Dean hesitated in the doorway of Castiel’s enormous suite.

“This room is bigger than Sam’s entire house,” he replied, not moving.

“Stop stalling.”

Dean took another step in and closed the door behind him. “Sorry. Um. So..that was bad timing, huh?”

Castiel moved into the little kitchen. “Tea, or coffee?”

“Whiskey,” Dean grumbled to himself.

“What?”

“Nothing, thank you.” He moved to sit down at the dining room table, which doubled as a conference table, apparently, judging by all the built-in electrical plugs in the center of it. After a few minutes of staring at his hands, he gratefully accepted the tea Castiel handed him and took a sip.

“Earl grey?” he guessed, and didn’t wait for an answer. “Mr. Novak, let me just get this out there. I’m not going to apologize for the way I feel. Only for shouting it out in the elevator of our hotel. I would have never said anything like that to you directly. Very sorry for that, and I mean it.”

“It’s darjeeling. Did you know I lost my daughter and wife last year?”

That completely threw Dean for a loop, and he sat up straighter and wiped the indignant scowl off his face. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”

“Did you hear how it happened?”

“Yes, sir.” Dean squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. Claire had killed three people while driving drunk, including her own mother. “I mean, I don’t _know_ what happened. I wasn’t there. Obviously. I googled it. Because nobody will talk about it. Sorry, I’m nervous.”

“She was 17. Had her whole life ahead of her. And what the news stories won’t tell you is that she was also pregnant. My PR team managed to keep that part a secret somehow.”

 _Oh fuck._ “I don’t know what to say. I’m really sorry.”

“She was very troubled. Like you.”

_Oh._

_OH_. 

Dean suddenly couldn’t breathe or swallow or think or...anything. Castiel sighed and paced around, rather than sitting still as a stone like he normally did. 

“Let me cut to the chase, Dean. I’m not sorry for wanting to help you. I won’t apologize for being hard on you. In no way whatsoever do I regret intervening, even against your will, in order to keep you out of jail, employed, and on the straight and narrow. Maybe I’m not doing it correctly, and maybe I’ve made things worse sometimes, but it’s not for lack of trying. And as long as it’s in my power, I’m going to keep trying. So if you don’t like it, we’ll cut ties and you can leave. If you’re going to stay, don’t expect me to give up on you. Because I won’t. You deserve the second chance that she never got.”

Dean’s nose was running from the effort of holding back his tears. “Thank you. I mean, sir... _Cas_ ...I get it. But you’re...you’re doing it wrong. Because I never saw it that way at all. I just... _fuck_ , I’ll just say it. I mean, you’re brilliant at so many things, but not so much at mentoring. You’re a bully, and you’re passive aggressive, and you never say what you’re really thinking.”

“Okay.” 

“And I mean,” Dean wiped his nose and his eyes, “don’t get me wrong. I know all the good things you’ve done for me. Things I can never repay you for, ever. A huge list of things. And there are times when you’re the nicest and most thoughtful person in the world. But it’s all just washed away every time you ignore me when I need your reassurance the most. I never really know where I stand with you and it makes me a nervous wreck. Does that make sense? I hope it makes sense. I feel like such a girl right now.”

“Girls are uniformly stronger than men in most ways. Dean, this conversation is incredibly awkward and there’s nothing more I want right now than to just end it. But I’m not going to. It’s too important. I’m going to ask you a question, and I want a straight answer. Because it’s the only time I’m going to ask it, so you’ll never get the chance to tell me again. Okay?”

Dean nodded anxiously. “Yeah. Um. Shoot.”

Castiel sat down with Dean at the table and looked him straight in the eyes. “What do you want from me?”

Dean laughed nervously. “Wow. I was expecting a yes or no question.”

“Take it seriously, please.”

“Sorry. Yeah. Um.” Dean drummed his fingers on the table. “I…well, for starters, I want you to unblock my number from your phone.”

Castiel pulled out his phone and handed it over. “I don’t know how to do that. Do you mind?”

Dean took it. His hands were shaking badly, but he managed, and handed it back wordlessly.

“Thanks. And, um. Secondly...wow, this is hard. There are so many things.”

Castiel nodded. “Make a bullet point list, then. Email it to me within 24 hours.”

Dean laughed again, his tension releasing just a little. “Of course you would put it like that. So corporate.”

Castiel ignored the well-meaning jibe. “I’m going to ask two things from you in the meantime.”

“Okay.”

“Stop trying to guess what I’m thinking all the time. You’ll be a lot happier for it, because I guarantee you’re wrong 99% of the time.”

“I guess you’re right.”

Castiel nodded. “Good. Secondly, accept my help from time to time without automatically assuming I have nefarious intentions.”

Dean looked at his hands. “That’s...that’s a lot harder.”

“Just give it a shot. Don’t forget that list. I’m assuming getting rid of the cane will be item number one.”

“No, actually. It won’t even be on the list. Probably the number one thing will be asking you to accept that I don’t always _want_ your help. It’s overbearing sometimes.”

Castiel nodded. “Alright. Well, this a good start. I need to go do a few things-”

Dean blurted, “And you’ve _gotta_ stop ignoring me for days at a time. Because what happened in the elevator a little while ago? That’s what happens. I stew, and then I blow up.”

“Understood-”

“And the third thing will be to stop making me stagedoor. I don’t like it.”

“Alright. I think we can stop now. We’ll discuss your list when we arrive to St. Petersburg on Tuesday.”

Dean stood up and softened his voice. “I’m sorry about Claire. But I’m not Claire, and I’m not your son. I would _really_ like it if you treated me more like a friend than a liability.”

Castiel nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll see you tomorrow at breakfast, then.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

Dean turned to leave, and Castiel stared at the back of the door for a minute before pulling his phone back out and texting Ellen.

_\- really need help right now hon. where are you_

_\- Coming. You guys ok?_

_\- he is. i'm not  
_

 


	128. Chapter 128

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picks up a day after Cas and Dean's last argument, when he overheard Dean badmouthing him in the elevator and started telling him about Claire. He asked Dean for a list of things he (Cas) could improve upon...and so Dean is now showing up with the list.

To say Dean was nervous as he entered the little conference room with his list of things Castiel sucked at was not nearly enough to cover the situation accurately; he felt like throwing up and shitting himself at the same time. God, he had fucked up by blurting all the shit out in the elevator for him to overhear. There was no turning back now; Castiel was more forgiving than he’d like to admit, but this was something new entirely. 

“Sit down, please,” Cas said as he pulled out a chair. Dean gathered his courage and crossed the room.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted as he sat, so ashamed that he was utterly unable to look the man in the eyes.

“Give me the list, please,” Castiel said quietly as he took a seat across from his errant violinist.

“I really don’t want to do this,” Dean complained politely as he held on tightly to the paper.

“If you don’t do it, this meeting room will be your last stop on our tour.”

Dean’s heart stopped for a moment, and he had to catch his breath. He’d been expecting such a comment, yes, but that didn’t mean he was prepared for it. Especially when it was phrased like _ that,  _ holy shit.

“No it won’t. You said you wouldn’t fire me, period, and you always keep your word. Unless you’re planning to change that, of course.”

To Dean’s satisfaction, Castiel appeared to be a little set back on his heels by that.

“Look at me, please. Have you been drinking?”

“Yes,” Dean admitted, locking eyes with Cas. 

“How much?”

“Just enough.”

“How much is just enough?”

“Depends on the situation. In this case, a lot. But I’ve built up a tolerance, so I’m fine.”

“Okay. Thank you for being honest. I want you to agree to enter rehab the moment you land back in Los Angeles. I’ll pay for it. You need to get yourself well before you go back home.”

“I don’t  _ have _ a home,” Dean blurted. “I mean...what am I going back to, exactly? It’s not like you’ll ever welcome me back into your guesthouse now. And Sam’s impossible to live with. Sorry, that’s not your problem. I’ll shut up now.”

Dean looked down again; Castiel was watching him with pursed lips and a placid expression.

“You need to start making a plan. This next five and a half months is going to pass very quickly.”

“Yeah. I probably won’t go back to Los Angeles anyway. Too many ghosts there.”

Castiel cleared his throat roughly. “Alright. I want you to start looking for residential facilities, wherever they are. Don’t worry about the cost. Give me a list by the end of the month.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

Castiel took another deep breath. “Dean, just to be clear, I’m not mad at you for what I overheard yesterday.”

“Glad to hear it.” Dean shrugged in a falsely casual manner. “I’m mad at  _ you _ though, for the record. For everything. Literally everything.”

“So I’ve heard,” Castiel replied dryly. “Want to talk about that? Politely, of course.”

Dean nodded; he couldn’t keep quiet for another minute longer if someone paid him a million bucks to do it.

“It’s just…” Dean flailed his arms around. “Dude, you should’ve never hired me. I’m not worth all the trouble I’ve put you through. You’re a bigger idiot than I am, you know that?”

“Hmmm. If that’s an apology, I accept it.”

“No you don’t. You said yourself you hold grudges like an Olympic sport.”

“I never said _ every  _ grudge. Just a select few.” Castiel shrugged. “Anyway, you’re just stalling now. Give me the list, please.”

Dean steeled himself bravely, although he really felt like running away. “No, sir. It’s time for me to just own up to the fact that you’ve done nothing wrong, and I’m just an ungrateful brat with no ambition and no purpose in life. No matter what you say to the contrary.”

Castiel’s frowning face was like stone. ”I won’t be saying anything to the contrary, trust me.”

Dena nearly choked on his own spit; he was  _ not _ expecting that. “Wait.  _ What _ ?”

“I’m saying I agree with you. That you’re an ungrateful brat with no ambition and no purpose in life.”

“ _ Dude _ . What the fuck?” Dean’s jaw was nearly on the floor. “You’re supposed to tell me everything’s gonna be alright...and I’m awesome...and I’m gonna fix everything!”

“You apparently haven’t noticed I’ve already been saying that for six months. But you don’t listen. Don’t call me ‘dude’ ever again, by the way.”

“Fine. I’m calling your bluff right now.” Dean ripped his list into tiny shreds while Castiel watched with a blank expression. “Go ahead. Fire me.  _ Dude _ .”

Castiel smiled slightly as Dean piled the little stack of pieces into a tiny haystack. 

“What's funny?” Dean asked curiously, deeply perturbed by yet another highly unexpected reaction.

“Nothing’s funny,” Castiel replied easily. “Just intriguing. I haven’t seen this side of you before. It’s kind of refreshing, to be honest.”

Dean blinked. “Seriously? _Refreshing?_ You’re just...you’re freaking me out right now with all these weird reactions.”

“Maybe I’m just glad we finally agreed on something. That you have some temporary character flaws that can be forgiven. They’re not permanent ones.”

Dean laughed humorlessly and then scoffed. “Right. No, I’m definitely fucked up for good. I do so much stupid shit you don’t even know about. I’ve violated the no drinking before a concert policy like five times, including last night. Wait. Maybe I shouldn’t have had a few drinks before this meeting.”

“Might not be a bad thing,” Castiel observed quietly, his smile dropping off abruptly. “For better or worse, at least you’re finally opening up to me.”

“Oh I haven’t even begun. Just wait. All I want to do is go home and drink, then go to bed and never wake up. Hell, I’d rather go to jail than play one more city. But you won’t let me. Because you think I have  _ potential _ or some stupid shit, in spite of everything. Why?”

“Hmmm. Hold that thought for a sec.” Castiel picked up the iPad and browsed through it for what seemed like an interminable amount of time to Dean, who rubbed his temples and bounced his knees nervously in the meantime.

“What are you doing?” he finally asked with impatience, several minutes later.

Castiel looked up. “Giving you time to calm down. You okay now?”

“What? Um. Yeah.”

“Good. Then read this review to me. Out loud.”

Dean took the iPad without hesitation. “Sure. I hope you like fairy tales. Once upon a time there was a criminal named Dean who tricked everyone into thinking he was a good person-”

“Stop it and do as I say.”

“Sorry,” Dean sighed as he looked down. “Some German rag. Great. It says  _ Clearly the star of this show is Dean Winchester, there can be no argument. Whatever we were expecting to hear from a young man of his background was no preparation for what we actually got. Enthralling, emotional - if not technically perfect - the…” _

“Keep going,” Castiel said quietly.

Dean kept reading in a highly theatrical and mocking tone. “... _ the young man sizzles with youthful energy that does great justice to his teachers; one report says Winchester only had two years of professional training amongst his near-two decades on the violin, but he plays with the skill and feel of an old master.” _

Dean snorted and handed the iPad back to Cas. “I  _ sizzle _ ? That’s new. Whatever. Anyway, what’s the point? You already agreed that I’m a lost cause, which was really fucking helpful and encouraging, thanks for that. What now?”

“Never said you were a lost cause.” 

“Might as well have. This reverse psychology shit isn’t gonna work on me, by the way.”

Castiel angrily hit the power button in his iPad, and the screen went black instantly. Then he shoved it aside and rolled his eyes in frustration at the ceiling.

“Nothing works on you, Dean! You’ve spent six months trying to prove I shouldn’t have hired you. And you know what? You were right, I shouldn’t have. I was wrong, and I made a mistake. In retrospect, I wouldn’t have done it. I told my brothers as much yesterday. So congratulations for being right all along. Never mind the whole self-fulfilling prophecy thing, it doesn’t matter now. So there, now you have it. Are you happy?”

Dean was completely silent as he looked down as his hands and twiddled his thumbs. This wasn’t going how he expected, at all. Castiel was completely throwing him for a loop, and he had no idea what to say or how to feel. His mind was completely blank all of a sudden.

“Dean, you just read that glowing review for yourself. Those aren’t my words. Or Sam’s, or your dad’s. That is the opinion of one of the grumpiest, meanest music critics in the world. And also one of the most brilliant and insightful. If he says you’re that good, you’re  _ that _ good. So I don’t want to hear another single word of this ‘woe is me, I can’t take compliments’ martyr complex crap anymore. I mean it. It's becoming its own form of narcissism now.”

Dean took a deep breath. “But he just-”

“I’m not finished,” Castiel said sharply, rapping his knuckles on the table at the same time. “I got a call from the artistic director of the Berlin Philharmonic yesterday. I’ll leave it to you to figure out what he told me after he said they had an opening for an assistant concertmaster. Because if I tell you outright, you won’t believe me anyway. And I’m tired of trying to keep you from falling apart.”

“It’s not your job to save me!” Dean blurted hotly. “I’m not Claire. Okay? Stop trying to control me. You’re not my family.  _ There _ , I said it. Finally. I feel better now.”

Castiel stared down his violinist with a ferocity that made Dean want to die for a moment.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean mumbled hastily as he took a deep breath to calm himself. “I just... _ fuck _ . Every time I think I’m getting somewhere with you, I take us back another step by saying something stupid.”

Castiel nodded, and his voice was dangerously tight when he spoke. “You do have that tendency, yes. A true gift.”

Dean studied his nails as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world all of a sudden. 

“What was on your list for me?” Castiel asked after a long moment of silence.

_ Shit.  _ Dean felt his resolve start to wave the white flag a little as the lump in his throat increased in size again. “I just...I’ll tell you what was in the number one slot, but that’s it. I can’t take your silent treatment bullshit anymore, no matter how mad you are at me. Because for someone who is obsessed with good communication, you suck at it really bad. Just sayin’. So I want you to guarantee me time to talk to you every single day. Face to face, five minutes minimum.”

Castiel looked confused. “ _ That _ was your number one ask? Out of everything?”

“Yeah. I had like twelve other things but that was the big one. I seriously fucking  _ hate _ being ignored, okay? Yeah, I should’ve told you earlier. But now you know.”

“Did your dad used to ignore you, by chance?”

“Yeah. Him and Sam. When I turned 17. After I…never mind, it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” Castiel replied quietly. “After you  _ what _ ?”

Dean didn’t look up from his nails. “Don’t want to talk about it. Sorry.”

“Okay. What else was on the list?”

Dean shrugged again for the hundredth time today. “That doesn’t matter, either. You’ve said you made a mistake bringing me on the tour, so I guess I’m going home now.”

“Not unless you want to. And don’t assume you knew what I meant by me admitting I made a mistake. It’s not because you're doing a bad job, or that I hate you, or anything. I only regret bringing you because you’re so unhappy, and because you felt forced into it. That was never my intention - at least not consciously - and I had no idea you felt that way. Obviously I’ve learned a lot in the past 24 hours. You’re perfectly correct in saying you’re not Claire, but I don’t want you to mention her ever again. Understood?” 

“Yes, sir.” Dean pondered this dialogue numbly for a minute, then looked up at Cas with red eyes. “I don’t know what to say. I... _ fuck _ , this is all so complicated and I’m like, skirting the edge of a nervous breakdown half the time.”

“Do you want to leave the tour?” Castiel looked like he was afraid to know the answer even as he asked the question calmly.

“No, but I don’t know if I can handle it, Cas. I honestly don’t,” Dean admitted miserably. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too, though. For being ungrateful, and for being a hot mess in general. And for calling you an idiot. I wasn’t wrong, though. No sane person would have put up with me for as long as you have.”

He expected Castiel to heartily refute that, but got no such response. 

“You do realize that if you stay, I’ll have to officially address the fact that you’ve been drinking during forbidden hours, right?”

Dean’s breath hitched a little, then he nodded knowingly.  _ Fuck _ . “Yes, sir. I consent.”

“Good. Not right now, though. If you stay, I want three things from you starting right now.”

“Only three?” Dean smiled so slightly that Cas wasn’t even sure that’s what he was doing.

“Yes, and they’re all crucial. The first is to stop cursing. I’ve asked you at least ten times, and I’ve been lenient because I know it’s ingrained in you, but it stops here. Don’t do it. Not to me, not to anyone else as long as we’re touring.”

“Sorry.” Dean looked a little sheepish. “Hard habit to break, but I’ll try harder.”

“Don’t  _ try _ . Just do it.”

“Okay, Yoda. Got it. What’s the second one?”

Castiel cocked his head. “Yoda? I don’t understand Star Trek references.”

“Star Wars,” Dean grimaced. “Never mind, sorry. Please go ahead.”

“The second thing is I want you to start sitting in on the part of meetings where we go over reviews. Eventually, I’ll want you to start reading them all and give me your thoughts on them.”

“Okay.” Dean swallowed thickly. “Deal. And the third thing?”

Castiel looked at Dean in a way that made the younger man want to dissolve into smoke rather than agree to anything that was about to be said.

“Uh-oh. It’s a big one, isn’t it?”

“Yes it is,” Castiel replied firmly. “The biggest one of all, and you’re not going to like it...”

 


	129. Chapter 129

“Hey. You’re back early,” Dean said matter-of-factly as he walked into the hotel room and carefully closed the heavy door behind him. “Everything okay?”

Sam sat up in his bed and moved his computer from his lap to the floor. “All good. Where ya been? Not that it’s any of my business.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Relax. I was with Cas. Had a good chat. Then I went out to get a bite to eat.”

“Good chat? As in...he didn’t beat the shit out of you?”

“No, he didn’t beat the shit out of me, Sam. Really?”

Sam picked up a bottle of beer and wrenched off the top. “Maybe not today. But he’s still caning you. I’ve known all along, there’s no need to hide it. I’m not stupid.”

“Now _that’s_ none of your business,” Dean grumbled as he peeled off his jacket. “Listen, I’ve got to ask you something. Don’t freak out on me. Just answer the question, yes or no, and don’t read into it. It’s important.”

Sam gulped down the beer for a few seconds before answering. “Oh god. What?”

“I just…” Dean hesitated. How to ask such a thing? “Um. Look, I, uh...Castiel gave me the option to leave the tour without penalty, and-”

“No.”

“Wait. Don’t jump ahead of what I’m saying. We had a really good chat just now, I swear. Even though I’m a little tipsy. That made it easier, actually.”

“Whatever it is, the answer is no,” Sam said firmly.

Dean pulled out the desk chair and swung it around, then sat in it backwards to face his brother. “Shut up and listen, Sam. This is a serious question. If I choose to leave the tour, will you stay?”

“Already said no. End of story.”

“Dude, just hear me out. I don’t think I’m mentally or emotionally strong enough to continue. Okay? I just...this is killing me. You know that. If you knew how much I’d been drinking-”

“I have a pretty good idea.”

“Will you stop fucking interrupting me, please? Jesus Christ.”

Sam sighed and sat up higher, then set down his beer with a loud clunk on the nightstand. “I don’t get it, Dean. I really don’t. You have everything that anyone could _ever_ want. Money, fame, a paid trip around the world, a career, a mentor. _Everything._ So what the fuck is wrong with you for wanting to just up and walk away from it all?”

Dean stood up and angrily shoved the chair back into the desk alcove. “Well, so much for that. Trying to reason with you is always such a fucking mistake. Forget it, Sam.”

“Wait. What did Cas have to say?”

Dean ignored him, threw on his jacket again, and stalked back out of the room.

\----------------------

“Hey kiddo, what’s up?”

“Need to talk. Do you have a minute?”

Bobby pulled the door open wider. “Come in.”

“You look like you’re about to go out. Sorry, am I interrupting something?”

“It can wait. Have a seat.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” Bobby sat down and handed Dean a bottle of water. “You look like a man on a mission. What’s going on?”

“My fucking brother,” Dean breathed as he plopped down into his chair. “Never mind. Sorry for cursing, I promised Cas I wouldn’t anymore. Working on it.”

“Good. Haven’t seen you this worked up in a while. What’s going on?”

“I had a meeting with Cas earlier. I assume he told you about it.”

“Nope. Haven’t talked to him all day.”

Dean took a deep breath. “Okay, well. I was going to call Ellen, but you’re here, and you knew my dad, and I thought maybe your perspective on the whole thing would be more valuable than someone who...and she’s so close to Cas...never mind, I’m babbling. Fuck. I mean, gosh darn.”

Bobby cracked a little smile. “I’m all ears. Hit me.”

“Okay, well, just so you know, I’ve had a few drinks. Might be a bit more candid than usual.”

“That could be a good thing.”

“That’s what Cas said. Turned out it wasn’t. He wants me to leave the tour for a little while and go into a short-term rehab program back in the U.S. I’m really not happy about it. He’s not forcing me, he just...kind of strongly asked me to. Sorry to say I didn’t react very well to the suggestion, so we fought about it and he’s mad at me again. What else is new.”

“Okay.” Bobby reached over to shut off the “barking dog” alarm on his phone that had blared in the middle of Dean’s last sentence. “Sorry about that. How long is short-term?”

“Thirty days, probably. But Bobby, I don’t think alcohol is my problem. I need, like, a mental institution or something. Not even joking.”

“Did you tell Cas that?”

“No,” Dean said softly as he shook his head in wonder. “I mean, I...I couldn’t articulate it at the time. I was too upset.”

“About what? It’s not like you’re happy right now anyway. Maybe leaving for a little bit is exactly what you need. There has to be some place that addresses emotional issues as well as alcohol dependency. From what I understand they almost always go hand in hand anyways.”

“I know, but...if I leave, I’m not coming back. I know me, I’ll get home and be so pissed off at Cas that I’ll never even contact him again. He must know that, too. So he’s going to lose Sam as well.”

“He’d probably be happy about that, kiddo. He can’t stand your brother.”

“I know. But Sam...he deserves this. This whole…” Dean waved his hands around the luxury hotel room vaguely. “All of this. And he loves the fame. I don’t.”

"I don't think that's really what's bothering you about this. You're worried about what people will say about you, aren't you." It wasn't a question.

Dean nodded and was about to admit to his crushing anxiety about the gossip that would quickly surround him, but Bobby’s phone rang and he automatically looked over to it. _Castiel Novak._

“You should get that,” Dean said as he started to stand up.

“Shh. Sit. Don’t say anything.” Bobby picked up the call and put it on speakerphone, and Dean’s eyes bugged out in dismay. Bobby ignored him.

“Hey Cas.”

“Hi Bobby. I have something to run past you in regards to Dean. Got a minute?”

Dean started to stand up again, but Bobby latched onto his arm and pulled him back down.

“Sure. Was just about to meet Sam for dinner but I can delay that.”

“No, it’s okay,” Castiel’s voice said over the tinny speaker. “This won’t take long. Look, he...he really needs professional help at this point. We’re past the point of hoping for the best and waiting to see what happens. This is an incredibly hard decision, but I just talked to Michael and we’re going to release him from the tour and legally force him into a recovery program before he has a chance to hurt himself any further. Sorry to tell you over the phone.”

 _Bobby!_ Dean’s expression pleaded as the man held tightly onto his forearm.

“I’m so sorry. May I ask what happened to make you take such a drastic step?” Bobby asked tightly, not looking at Dean.

Castiel sighed heavily. “There’s so much to it, I wouldn’t even know how to explain. Today I gave him the choice to go to rehab on his own and leave the tour for a month, but he’s going to refuse. So for me, personally, this is a nightmare about to finally end. I’ve spent six months feeling like I’m watching Claire ruin her life all over again, so…ending our relationship is not a bad thing for me. Or him.”

Bobby went pale. “That does make sense to end it, then. I’m sorry.”

“Can you please get with Chuck and reach out to Benny for logistics? I’m thinking we’ll tell Dean in three days, to allow time for Benny to get to Vienna and adjust to the time difference. Obviously we don’t want to Dean to know yet, so be very mindful of what you say to him in the meantime.”

Dean reached out and grabbed Bobby’s knee. When Bobby turned to look at him, Dean reached over and hit _mute_ on the phone’s screen.

“No,” Dean said. “Tell him no.”

“I can’t, kiddo. Shush.”

Bobby jabbed the mute button again. “How much time are you giving him to make his decision?”

“I gave him an hour. It’s been almost two and I haven’t heard back yet.”

“Oh. Do you want me to talk to him?”

“No, thank you. He’s an adult, he needs to make up his own mind.”

“I’m really sorry, Cas. Try not to take it personally.”

“Of course I’m taking it personally. You of all people know how hard I’ve been...never mind.” Castiel sounded horribly depressed all of a sudden, and Bobby felt Dean’s hand squeeze his knee harder. 

“Yeah, sorry. I hear you. Shall l call you back in a little while to confirm Benny is good to go?”

“Yes, please. Thanks. Talk soon.”

They hung up, and Dean stood up so fast he nearly knocked his chair over.

“Fuck me. I’m such an idiot! Sorry, I gotta go. Thanks, Bobby.”

\-----------------------------------

Dean knocked for the fourth time. Nothing. He shakily whipped out his phone and texted Castiel.

_\- I’m at your door. I think. Room 909?_

_\- I’m not there. What do you want, Dean_

_\- Made my decision. I want to go into the program. Can we talk_

Nothing. Again. Dean resisted the urge to text back and shifted impatiently on his feet, feeling a little self-conscious about having stood there alone for so long already.

_\- My apologies, Dean. I am here. Just a second_

_Thank god._ Dean didn’t even care that Cas had lied to him, he was there and they would get to talk. Before he could work himself into a frenzy, the door popped open and Castiel stepped out.

“Ellen is here.”

“Oh crap, sorry. I didn’t know,” Dean said quickly. No wonder they’d met in a meeting room earlier. And that also meant that Ellen was witness to his conversation with Bobby.

“It’s okay.” Cas shut the door behind him, then looked back and forth to make sure the hallway was empty.

“Sir,” Dean blurted, “I’m sorry I’m late getting back to you. No excuse, my bad. But I want to do the short-term program. As you suggested.”

Dean braced himself for the inevitable _it’s too late, sorry. Should’ve made up your mind sooner. Sucks to be you._

But as always, Castiel managed to surprise him yet again by not asking questions or firing back any harsh remarks. He was perfectly calm and unperturbed, in fact. “Okay. Then I’m thinking you can play Stockholm in two days and head out after that. That will give us time to bring Benny in and get him adjusted to the time zone change. If you're up for it, of course.”

“Yes. But after that, Sam’s going to be a problem.”

“Sam is _always_ a problem. I’m running late for dinner, Dean. If we need to continue this conversation it will have to be tomorrow.”

Dean nodded, waves of relief flooding his body so quickly that he felt like he didn’t have enough oxygen to his brain suddenly.

“Right. Sorry again for being late. Um, enjoy your weird food. Bon apetite.”

“Thank you. Goodnight.”

The door shut as Castiel disappeared back inside, but as abrupt as the conversation was, Dean could swear he saw a hint of a smile in Castiel’s eyes for that last second or two.


	130. Chapter 130

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time because it was the best place to break the story up before the next part. Thanks for reading xoxo

**Stockholm**

Castiel kept up his end of the bargain to speak to his violinist every day, but oddly enough, Dean would have been okay with having a complete two-day break from his boss. He was more relaxed than he’d ever been now that he knew there was possibly a light at the end of the tunnel. Besides, Cas was with Ellen almost 24/7, and he needed her far more than Dean needed him.

The first meeting day after his decision to leave for rehab was the best one, because Castiel told him that Sam promised he wasn’t going to leave to tour if Dean did. In his heart Dean had always suspected that would be the case, no matter what Sam said out loud. His brother was steadily getting more and more addicted to the fame that came with his position, and got further into it at pretty much the same pace that Dean stepped further away from it.

The second meeting day was over coffee in the hotel’s pastry shop, and it started off tense when Dean immediately but politely asked for more time to consider his options for treatment before he left Europe. Castiel was clearly and loudly unhappy that he hadn’t chosen yet, but when Dean explained the delay was because he found so many places he liked rather than ones he didn’t like, Cas relaxed and the rest of the conversation was pleasant and fruitful.

The third day’s face-to-face meeting occurred in Castiel’s dressing room at the Stockholm concert venue. Dean hated the mood Cas was in from the moment they'd arrived to the venue, but he had no choice. He’d insisted on a daily meeting, he got it, and he was at the mercy of Castiel’s schedule. So he had to button down and suck it up as he knocked on the dressing room door, envelope in one hand and phone in the other.

“Come in, Dean. I’m giving you five minutes as promised, but just be aware that I’m not in a good mood.”

Dean nodded and walked in, being extra careful not to slam the door behind him. “Thank you for letting me know. I’m not sure my question is going to make you feel better, sir. But I have to ask it. Well, two questions, actually.”

Castiel turned away from the mirror and gestured towards the table. “Sit down. Sorry, didn’t mean to bark at you. Have a seat, please.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“What’s in the envelope?”

 _Cut to the chase, Dean. You have five minutes._ “It’s something I printed out in the business center of our hotel. Here, take a look. Part of a brochure for one of the places Michael found. It’s in upstate New York. I really think this is going to be the program for me.”

Castiel didn’t take the paper. “You don’t need my approval. Only you know what’s best for you.”

Dean nodded. “Yes, sir. Thank you, but...please just look at this. It’s important.”

“I really don’t have time.”

“Yes you do, sir. It doesn’t take four minutes to read three paragraphs. Please.”

Castiel took it reluctantly. “Okay. What is this?”

“It’s a description of the program I’d like to go into, and the pricing for it. But sir, it’s...it’s six weeks long. Not four. They have a four week program, but…but it doesn’t cover what I’m going to need.”

Dean fell silent and held his breath as Castiel read the three paragraphs once, then twice. Then he flipped the paper over to see if there was anything on the back, but it was blank.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Dean said quickly as he caught the sour expression on Castiel’s face. “I shouldn’t have asked. I’ll just do the four week one.”

“I think you’ve misjudged my reaction, Dean,” Castiel responded quietly. “It sounds perfect. Can you even start Thursday, though?”

“It starts every Friday, actually. I called and they have one slot left. So I’d be gone for six weeks and one day.”

“Two days, because you’ll need a full travel day. Maybe two. We’ll be in Asia by the time this is done. Where is this place located?”

“Upstate New York. It’s very expensive, and...I want to pay for it myself. This is my responsibility.”

“It’s also half your salary. Dean, I have literally millions of dollars in the bank, and more to come from this tour thanks to you and Sam. This would be a drop in the bucket for me.”

Dean nodded. “I know. That’s why I need to do it myself, oddly enough. I won’t take it as seriously if I’m spending your loose change instead of my hard-earned dollars.”

Castiel got it then. He nodded knowingly and handed the paper back. “Alright. It says here it has to be paid in full immediately. You haven’t earned anywhere near this much yet.”

“No, sir. That was the other part of my question. I was...I was wondering if I might have an advance. I’m so sorry to ask.”

Castiel dug his wallet out and rifled through it for a moment before pulling out a heavy steel card.

“This is my platinum card and it has no limit. Charge it all on there, and I’ll have Chuck reduce that amount from your payroll until the end of the tour.”

Dean didn’t reach for the card; he was utterly frozen in place.

“We have a concert in 90 minutes,” Castiel said firmly, still holding the card out. “And your five minutes is now up.”

“I just…”

“ _Dean._ Call them now, pay for it, then go do your job exactly as I expect you to do it. Understood?”

Dean reached out for the card with trembling hands. “I...sorry. Thank you, sir. Yes, sir.”

“Close the door behind you, please,” Castiel said gruffly as he rose to his feet. “I haven’t done my meditations yet.”

“Okay. Um, sir, I just. Please just reassure me that you’re not upset with me about this. Because you look really mad and...I think you’re mad and it’s upsetting me, sorry.”

Castiel frowned. “I am mad. But not at you. I warned you I was in a bad mood the moment you walked in here, remember?”

“That’s right, sir.” Dean was choked up a little suddenly. “Good enough. Got it. Thank you.”

“Door closed, pleased.”

Dean went out with another word and made the call. Then he returned the card to Castiel just as they were waiting in the wings for the audience to settle, with a whispered “all set, thank you,” into the darkness. He wasn’t even sure Cas heard him at first until a pale hand appeared from the black gloom to take the card. There was no reply.

He spent the next minute or two standing stock-still in the curtains, ignoring Sam chatting to his right, and moodily staring at his chair onstage as if it held all the answers the universe could offer up. Cas would never forgive him for asking for an extra two weeks, most likely. No, he definitely wouldn’t forgive him. Because he’d fucked up again. Of course. And it was so damned expensive.

But just as the blue cue light lit up for the curtain pull, he straightened up on his mark and immediately felt a large hand rest on his shoulder, accompanied by a reassuring light squeeze.

He turned to look at Sam, who still had both hands on his cello.

“I’m proud of you, Dean,” said Cas’s voice in a whisper. 

Dean looked to his left. _Holy shit,_ it was really Cas...

Another squeeze, then the hand was gone as the legendary Castiel Novak made his way onstage to bow for his adoring Swedish crowd.


	131. Chapter 131

**Stockholm...continued**

“I made some mistakes tonight, sir,” Dean said tightly after the concert in Castiel’s dressing room. “But you didn’t count them. I bungled an entire measure of arpeggios, for starters. But the counter stayed at zero.”

“I’m aware of that,” Cas said offhandedly as he zipped up his briefcase that contained his music. “I wanted to see how you did without the pressure. And you were fine. I don’t think we’ll need to continue that practice after tonight.”

“Yes we do. It’s in my contract for a reason.”

Castiel sighed. “Dean, let’s not do this right now. Drop it.”

Dean stood his ground. “But it’s in my contract. You’re obligated to abide by it. I made _three_ mistakes, and not small ones, either.”

“Yes. _I know_. But I’m in charge here, not you, so stop telling me what to do. I’m not caning you tonight.”

“But you guys are flying to Vienna in a couple hours and I’m staying here to fly out tomorrow afternoon. Chuck just sent me my flights.”

“Good. I’m glad you have time to sleep in and-”

“So I’m not going to see you again for more than six weeks. When are you going to do it, if not here right now? I consent, but I can’t have it held over me that entire time, it’s not fair.”

Castiel set down his briefcase and reluctantly turned to face his very stubborn violinist. “Dean, settle down. You’re not upset about those mistakes. You’re only picking a fight with me right now because you feel guilty about asking me for those extra two weeks. And you think getting caned is some kind of absolution for that. It’s not.”

Dean looked like a deer in the headlights suddenly, so Castiel knew he had hit the mark.

“But you _were_ upset about it,” Dean insisted quietly. “I can read you as well as you can read me, just FYI.”

“Fair enough. I was annoyed at first, yes. But only before I read the whole thing and realized it was perfect. As I _said_. So stop provoking me into punishing you for the wrong reasons. Got it?”

“Okay,” Dean said reluctantly, still wringing his hands a little. “If you’re sure. You should fine me for the mistakes at the very least, so that I don’t feel like I’m getting away with-”

“For god’s sake, Dean! Take my forgiveness and run. You know how rare it is.”

“Yeah, exactly. That’s why I’m weirded out!”

“You’ll get over it. And don’t apologize, either,” Castiel added hastily. “Are you going back to the hotel now, then?”

“No, I...I was hoping to ride with you guys to the airport and then go back from there. Is that okay? I’ll pay for the extra stop the driver has to make.”

“Ellen is doing the same thing, so there’s no extra cost and you can ride back with her. You should probably go say your goodbyes to anyone not going with us. Michael, and the crew. We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

“I know. Aren’t you going to do anything about me messing up during the concert?”

“Sure, if I lose my temper because you won’t drop it. Is that what you want?”

“No, sir. Sorry that I...wait, you said not to apologize. Sorry for apologizing.” Dean cringed as Cas rolled his eyes. “Okay, I’m going now.”

“Thank god. Wait.”

“Yes?”

“This is the first conversation we’ve had in weeks where you didn’t curse at all. Thank you for that.”

Dean nodded. “You’re welcome. Guess I’m not a hopeless case after all.”

\-----------------------

“I wish we were taking the same flight,” Dean told Ellen as the two made their way through security at the Stockholm airport.

“Yeah, me too, but we’ve got an hour to chat at least. Where’s your violin, by the way?”

“I didn’t bring either one of them. I asked Cas about that and he...well, he’s kind of weird about this whole thing. Maybe you’d know why he gave me that answer.”

“What answer?”

Dean hauled his backpack off the conveyor belt and struggled to heft it back on his shoulders. “When we dropped them off at the airport, I asked him if he wanted to keep in touch over the next six weeks and he said it’s probably better if I just forget he exists. Honestly, it kind of hurt my feelings a little bit.”

Ellen thought about that as she put her coat back on and buckled her belt. “Yeah, I can see why, but what does that have to do with why you didn’t bring your violin?”

“He wouldn’t let me. He said it would remind me of things best left forgotten for now. I don’t know, it was just weird. I mean, it’s not like I’m not going into solitary confinement. And then there’s Sam. Goddamn idiot Sam.”

“What did he do? I need food, by the way.”

“Me too. Let’s walk and see what they have. Sam basically said he always knew I was going to cave in and ask for help. _Cave in_ , like it’s a bad thing to not want to be so f...messed up.”

Ellen shrugged. “Yeah, well that’s a toxic masculinity issue right there and it’s not your problem. Don’t listen to him. He wasn’t supportive of you at all, I’m guessing.”

“No. Wouldn’t even say goodbye, or good luck, or whatever. Thinks I’m a pussy for asking for help. He’s such a dumbass.” Dean fell quiet as he recalled their heated exchange in the dressing room that made them several minutes late to the van, much to Castiel’s distress and confusion.

“You mind me asking why you made the decision to leave the tour?”

“Yeah. I mean, no, I don’t mind. I felt sorry for Cas, for starters. He’s put up with so much of my crap, as you know. But the clincher was when he said something to Bobby that just about killed me dead. That watching me ruin my life felt like watching Claire ruin hers all over again, and he couldn’t do it anymore, so he was going to let me go.”

“Oh. Shit.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Total kick in the balls.”

“Bobby told you he said that?”

“Not exactly. I...never mind how I found out. Anyway, I always thought he’d fire me eventually out of frustration or anger over something stupid. But not because of something like _that._ It really hit me hard. Here’s a Chipotle.”

“What?”

“Chipotle. Want to eat here?”

Ellen laughed. “Sorry, that was quite the change of subject. From heartbreak to burritos. Sure. You mind me asking one more question?”

“Of course not. Open book today.”

“I’m just wondering what Cas is planning to tell his fans about you not being there for six weeks.”

That was probably the only thing in the world Dean absolutely, implicitly did _not_ want to talk about, but it was too late now. He took a deep breath and tried not to let the anger of his conversation with Michael about the same subject overtake his emotions again.

“I’m surprised he didn’t tell you,” Dean replied blandly.

“No. I mean, I guess I’ll find out soon enough. We don’t talk business, kiddo. He’s tight as a drum when it comes to those things.”

“Right. Well, they’re going to be transparent about it.” Dean said the words like they were burning a hole through his tongue. “That was part of the deal.”

“Ah. You’re not happy about that, obviously.”

“I wasn’t given a choice about what they’re going to say. Sorry, Cas is texting me. Just a sec.”

Dean’s heart glowed a little in anticipation as he pulled his phone out.

_\- Just sent you an email. Important that you respond in full, immediately. Make sure to copy all in your reply._

Dean’s mouth went dry, and the glow in his heart turned to ice instantly. “Oh fuck,” he muttered. 

“What’s wrong?”

 _I’m fired, that’s what._ “No idea. One sec.”

He opened his email app and read the message in question. 

_Dean, I did not approve of (or suggest) the messaging my brothers created about your absence and regret that such a crucial subject was discussed without me present.  Let us know ASAP how you want this handled. Options below. - Castiel_

Dean looked up at Ellen and handed the phone to her. “Oh god. Michael and Gabriel are are gonna shit bricks when they see this.”

She read it, then smiled wryly. “I’m sure he’s already raked them over the coals and back, several times, and beat them into submission for good measure. You’d better reply now.”

Dean looked at the half-dozen options Cas had offered, which ranged from full transparency, to making something up, to complete silence. 

“I don’t know what to do,” he said glumly after a few minutes. “I’m too hungry to think. Any advice?”

“Yeah. Don’t lie. Just a reminder that in this day and age, there’s no such thing as privacy. Someone’s going to find out where you are, and it’s going to get out there no matter what you do.”

“Well that doesn’t make me feel better,” Dean complained.

Ellen shrugged. “You didn’t ask me to make you feel better, kiddo.”

Dean jumped as the phone rang in his hand; it was Michael. He looked at Ellen with wide eyes, then picked it up.

“Hey.”

“On thank god, you’re not in the air yet. You see that email Cas just sent?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. He says I owe you an apology, but I disagree. My messaging was the right thing to do. If you lie and the truth is found out later, this will look doubly bad.”

Dean nodded and took a deep breath as his heart began to race yet again.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, sorry. I’m here. Um. For publicity’s sake, though, is that really the best course of action to take? I don’t want to make you guys look bad.”

“I think so, yes.”

“Hmm. But Castiel disagrees?”

“Not at all. He’s just pissed I didn’t consult him before talking to you about it. He wants to be transparent, but that shouldn’t sway your opinion. If you want to keep it under wraps, we can do that. I’m just telling you not to lie. I can’t even believe he threw that out there as an option.”

Dean shuddered a little as he tried to shake off his dread and anxiety around whatever would be said about him, and the resulting backlash. Then suddenly, without even trying, he had made his decision, and it wasn’t even one Cas had proposed.

“I disagree. Sorry, Michael. I have to protect myself and my future. I want you guys to say that I’m taking time off to deal with the recent death of my father. You know I haven’t come to terms with it yet. Hell, everyone knows. And it’s closer to the truth that anything else could ever be.”

“Dean, we-”

“That’s final,” Dean said firmly, his authoritative tone surprising even himself. “Cas asked, and that’s my answer. Don’t even mention the word alcohol or addiction or whatever. This is an emotional health program I’m going into anyway, it’s not even technically a rehab center. So if anyone finds out where I am, it won’t come off as a lie.”

There was silence on the other line for at least thirty seconds, in which Dean heard and felt his stomach growl loudly. 

“Okay, Dean. You don’t need to be upset with me. I meant well, but I see your point. Remember that I’m a lawyer, not a PR guy.”

Dean relaxed at that, the weight off his shoulders entirely all of a sudden. “I know. So...Cas is really pissed at you, huh?”

There was a slight chuckle on the other line. “Oh yeah. To put it mildly. Don’t worry, he was right. I shouldn’t have left him out of the discussion. He’ll get over it in a few decades.”

“Okay. I’m gonna be next on his shit list if I don’t reply to this email. So…”

“Safe travels, Dean. And do good. We’re all rooting for you.”

Dean felt his eyes stinging, but ignored them and hardened his resolve a little. “Can I ask you one more question before you go?”

“Sure.”

“Does Cas really expect me to come back to the tour?”

“Absolutely, yes. A hundred percent. In fact, Chuck just went out to FedEx to ship your violins to Tokyo for safekeeping, and Benny just got here and signed his seven-week contract maybe an hour ago.”

“Seven weeks?”

“Yep, just in case you’re not able to make it to Tokyo in time due to travel delays, or whatever. You know Cas, he’s overly cautious in everything he does. It’s not because he doesn’t think you’ll come back, trust me. He’ll probably kill if you if you don’t. No, not probably. He absolutely will.”

“Right.” Dean smiled a little; that threat actually made him feel a lot better about the very real possibility that Cas may not want him to come back once he realized how trouble-free Benny was going to be. 

Michael grunted. “Sam, on the other hand? If he doesn’t pull some stupid shit that gets him sent home while you’re gone, I’ll be shocked.” 

Dean cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Yeah. He...just watch out for him, okay? He’s as messed up as I am, just in different ways. Dad really did a number on both of us.”

“I know. We are pretty hard on him, I guess. I don’t even remember the last time Cas talked to him without being forced to. Me either, for that matter. Thank god for Bobby.”

“Well. Talk to him, then. Maybe he’ll be less idiotic without me around.”

“Yeah. Anyway, I hope after this six weeks is up that you’ll be able to accept that you deserve all the good things that have happened to you. If nothing else, at least accept what Cas has tried to do. This whole situation has taken a lot out of him.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I will try my absolute best.”

“Okay. Good. See you in Tokyo. Take care, Dean.”

“You too.”

Dean hung up the phone and turned to Ellen, who was inching towards the line at Chipotle.

“Can we eat now?”

“Yeah. I’ll respond to this email while we’re waiting.”

“Everything alright?”

Dean glanced at her and smiled sadly. “I don’t know. Ask me again in six weeks.”

“That bad, huh?”

Dean shrugged. “Not bad. Just...it’s crazy. It’s all real now. I guess I was in denial until now. Hang on, sorry.”

He quickly answered Castiel’s email before he lost his nerve, then opened his text messages again to see if there was anything from Sam. Nothing. Of course.

_\- Hey bro. Getting on the plane to Buffalo. It’s gonna be ok. All good in Vienna?_

Dean put his phone away until he and Ellen were done eating, but it took Herculean effort not to constantly peek at it to see why it wasn’t buzzing with a reply. Maybe it died. Maybe the DND was on. Maybe it didn’t go through. No, the “delivered” sign was there. 

By the time Dean had said goodbye to Ellen and hugged her tightly at her gate, the little alert had changed to “message read.” The line for Dean’s plane was long, and slow, and then it was delayed 45 minutes. Two hours later, as the flight attendants insisted everyone turn off their phones, Dean stared at his display in hurt and annoyance. Then he discreetly held it under his jacket to type up a second message to Sam.

_\- You’re such a dick_

This time, the “read” notification was instantaneous, and the three little dots showed his brother typing a reply.

_\- Enjoy your vacation. Hope you grow the fuck up before you get back!_

Dean angrily swiped the power button on his phone and shoved it into his little duffel bag that was under the seat in front of him, determined not to let the cruel words affect him.

But when the plane landed two and half hours later in London, he was still crying.

\---------------------------

_\- Hey Cas. In Buffalo, just got on the shuttle to the retreat. Long ride. Looking forward to doing this thing. I know that you’re probably asleep and won’t see this but I just wanted to say thanks again. I’m gonna do you proud._

_\- I’m still awake. Just emailed you the press release and media points draft._

_\- I know, I already replied. Looks great and it's really thoughtful. Thank you. It’s 4am for you_

_\- Had a rough rehearsal with Benny. He’s not you, and not in the good way. Looking forward to having you back_

Dean was so stunned that he could hardly think of something to say in reply. Castiel had actually shown some kind of...what was the word? _Affection?_ In his own very awkward Castiel-like way, naturally.

_\- You said we shouldn’t keep in touch so I’ll respect that, of course. But just so you know, I don’t feel the same_

_\- I apologize for being rude about it. I just want you to focus on you, and nothing else._

_\- Okay. Will do. Goodnight_

_\- Also, I think your brother is going to give me a stroke so I need to focus on mending my relationship with him as well so that I’m not an empty shell when you get back. Best not to be distracted. Goodnight._

Dean smiled to himself. A moment later, a text came in from Sam. But Dean dismissed the notification without reading it, shut down his phone, and didn’t touch it again for five weeks and four days.


	132. Chapter 132

* * *

**5 weeks and 4 days later...**

_-Castiel, it’s Dean. Do you mind telling me what’s going on right now, because I think Sam’s pranking me but I’m really freaking out because maybe he’s not_

_-It’s better if we talk on the phone. Can you call me?_

_-I can’t right now. Please just tell me if he really isn’t on the tour anymore_

_-Correct. Call me._

Fuck. Double fuck. Triple fuck!! Dean felt like dissolving into tears, but he held back manfully and switched message threads.

_-Oh god. Cas confirmed. What the hell is going on, are you ok?!_

_-I wish you would just call me. I’m fine._

_-You literally lost the chance of a lifetime and you’re FINE?! What happened??_

_-Benny and I were both fired for lying. It’s a long story_

_-Oh my god. You assholes_

_-Just call me please_

Dean ignored him and switched back to the thread with Cas.

_-I can’t do this tour without him_

_-You have to. I fully expect and require you to carry out your obligations and reunite with us in Tokyo as scheduled. I will not negotiate._

_-I know but Cas. Please_

_-I’m not continuing this conversation by text. Call me when you are ready to talk._

_Fuck._ Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then dialed the number. It did the European “double-ring” thing for a while, until Cas finally picked up.

“Castiel Novak.”

“Yeah, it’s me. Dean. I just...I’m on the verge of a panic attack here, so please go easy. Sam’s not talking.”

There was a long pause on the other end, and the sound of muffled talking and a door closing. Wherever Cas was, it wasn’t private and he probably wouldn’t be saying too much, Dean figured. _Damn it to hell._

“Dean?”

“Yes, sir?”

Castiel’s voice was grave. “You should ask Sam. It’s not my place to tell you what happened.”

“I did. He’s not talking, as I said. He’d probably lie about it anyway, so how about we just save time here and-”

“Stop and breathe. I’ll tell you. Calm down.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

Castiel sighed. “Benny and Sam told Chuck they were going out to see a movie while we were in Rome. I didn’t think the area we were staying in was safe, so I sent Rufus to discreetly follow them and watch out for them. He called to tell me that they had gone into a highly illicit nightclub known for periodic drug raids.”

“Oh my god,” Dean breathed shakily. “Sam, you freakin’ idiot…”

“I called Sam and inquired where he was, and he told me they were at a movie theater. So I had my driver take me over to the club, and I waited outside for them to come out. When they finally did, they were both high as kites. Sam tried to take all the blame, but I put them on the next plane out of Rome for violating their drug policy, in addition to the lying.”

“Oh my god.”

“Sam will never play for me again, nor Benny, and that’s the end of it. Are we understood?”

Dean wiped his eyes and nose with his sleeves for the third time. _Fucking Sam_!

“Yeah. I got it. So you’re telling me my brother has a drug problem?”

“That’s for him to say, not me.”

Dean was far too stunned to panic right now. “Are you going to sue them for breach of contract?”

“Absolutely. Already did. And I’ll sue you as well if you’re not in Tokyo in five days.”

Dean gasped a little, his heart pounding. “Jesus. You don’t have to threaten me, sir. I never said I wasn’t coming back.”

There was a very long pause. “Sorry,” Castiel said quickly, almost sheepishly. “It’s been a very trying few weeks. But Kevin and Charlie are doing well, considering.”

Dean fought back the urge to angrily hang up. “Charlie? I don’t know him. Is he any good?”

“Charlie is an excellent cellist. Better than your brother in some respects, but not all. I think you’ll get along fine. Kevin will be returning back to Los Angeles once you’re ready to go again.”

Dean somberly picked at a hole in his jeans and shook his head. “This is crazy. I never thought I’d...that Sam would be the first one to go. And for doing drugs!”

“It was definitely unexpected, yes. And Dean, I apologize sincerely for the comment I made about suing you. It was completely out of line.”

“Yes, it was. But understandable, so I forgive you. For the record, I also understand why you had to let Sam go. I’m not mad or anything, in case you’re wondering. Upset, yeah, but that’s not the same thing.”

Another long pause. “That’s very reasonable. How is your therapy going?”

“It’s good. Listen, Cas...I gotta go. I need time to process this, okay? I’m kind of numb.”

“Understood. Call me again in four hours so we can talk logistics around your return.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Dean hung up and wasted no time calling Sam and laying into him before he had the chance to say anything.

“Caught in a lie, huh? Doing fucking drugs too, are you serious? Oh my god Sam!”

No answer.

“Sam?!”

“We were just smoking weed, Dean.”

Dean sucked in a deep breath and let loose. “I don’t care! Drugs are drugs! Never mind your contract with Cas. You could have gone to jail, the hell were you thinking? Remember what you said to me the day before I left for rehab? You said ‘ _you have everything anyone could ever want, a great job, a mentor, fame, a paid trip around the world, why would you throw it away_?’ All that crap. You know who says stuff like that but doesn’t practice what he preaches? A hypocrite, Sam! You are a fucking hypocrite. Oh, by the way, you always have been. So I don’t know why I’m so surprised, to be honest. Jesus H. fucking Christ on a pogo stick, what the hell is the matter with you?”

Silence again. Then, a sniff.

“Are you crying, Sam? I hope you are. Pathetic. Thanks a fucking lot, brother. I was looking forward to spending the next four months touring the world with you, but now what? I get stuck with some random guy who probably thinks he’s god’s gift to mankind now that he’s succeeded the great Sam Winchester?”

Sam cleared his throat roughly. “Charlie’s a girl, Dean. A young woman, rather. And she’s awesome.”

“Oh.” Dean was genuinely caught off guard by that, and his anger deflated a little.

“Dude, listen...let’s talk later when you’re not so worked up. Not that I don’t deserve you screaming at me or anything.”

“I’m not screaming. But you just... _man_ , between the two of us, I seriously can’t believe you’re the one going down for doing stupid shit and lying about it. That’s a twist ending if I ever saw one. I’m so fucking disappointed in you right now, I can’t even think straight.”

Another long pause, another sniff. “Well, I have an audition tomorrow with the L.A. Philharmonic. Wish me luck?”

“Break a string. You know what, Sam? Not that I don’t wish you well, but nothing you can say right now will change my opinion about you. I wouldn’t care if you got a job leading the damned philharmonic, you’re just...I gotta go. I can’t do this right now, I’m going to have a stroke. Goodbye.”

Dean hung up, then threw his phone down on his little bed in his little retreat room. It would be nice to have a king bed again, he mused idly, as he shook his head in consternation at his idiot brother’s behavior. Sam called back two minutes later, but Dean jabbed the decline button mercilessly and stalked out of his room to grab some hot tea and take a stroll around the upper garden.

\-----------------------------------

**Six days later. Tokyo.**

Dean hefted his two suitcases onto the bellcart at the Conrad Tokyo and felt his heart lighten a little as Cas, Michael, Ellen, and Bobby approached him from the staircase leading down to the lobby.

“Hey guys,” Dean said warmly as he stuck out his hand, which Castiel took with his usual crushing group. “Ow.”

Dean grimaced as Michael gave him another crushing handshake, followed by a tight man-hug with Bobby, and an extremel comforting and intimate bear hug from Ellen. They all stood in a little circle, four pairs of eyes swooping up and down Dean while he self-conciously focused his attention on Chuck, who was the next arrive.

“Hey, Dean,” Chuck said as he broke through the circle and shook Dean’s had weakly.

“Hi Chuck. Thanks for all your help getting me here. You all look a little shell-shocked,” Dean said with a wan smile and he looked around the group for the first time, making eye contact with each person very briefly.

“Yeah,” Bobby said gruffly after a moment. “Because you look so different.”

“Oh,” Dean said, a little disappointed.

“In a good way,” Castiel put in quickly, elbowing Bobby hard in the ribs. 

“You gained weight,” Chuck threw in.

“And your hair is a little wild,” Michael said. “I barely recognized you at first.”

Ellen stepped forward and took both of Dean’s hands in her own, then looked deeply into his eyes. “What these idiots are trying to say is that we’re all so glad to see you looking so healthy and rested. You hungry?”

Dean smiled, for real this time. “No, ma’m, I just want to go to my room and get situated.” He looked up at Cas, who suddenly seemed to remember something as he dug into his pockets and then handed Dean a packet with two hotel keys. 

“Room 323.” 

Dean’s heart panged a little; that was the area code of Sam’s cell phone number. 

“Thank you, sir. It’s good to see you all, too.” He turned around and took a hold of the bell cart, then hastily let go when he saw a man already holding onto it. “Right, sorry. Shall we?”

“Yes, sir,” the man said, bowing a little.

“We have a dinner scheduled at 6pm,” Castiel said as he followed Dean and his cart towards the elevator. “I’d like you to be there, if you’re up for it. We have some special guests. The concertmaster of the Tokyo Philharmonic, for one.”

Dean nodded gravely. “Yes, sir, I saw that email and replied that I’ll be there. Thank you.”

“Great. Then you have tomorrow off to do as you please before you hit the ground running again on Tuesday.”

Dean didn’t have a chance to reply before Ellen squeezed her way past him and into the elevator first. There was no room for anyone else now except the bell cart, bellman, and Dean, and Dean silently took a moment to appreciate that he could take this ride without Cas peppering him with questions.

“I’ll be back down in a minute, babe,” Ellen called out to Cas, whose eyebrows furrowed together in annoyance as the elevator doors shut.

“Babe?” Dean asked with a slight cackle.

“Yeah, he hates when I call him that in front of his brothers. Makes him feel all humbled and everything.”

“How’s he been?”

“Worried about you. Constantly.” Ellen reached through the rungs of the cart to pat Dean’s forearm. “But as soon as you walked in I felt the tension drain from him, and not by a little. You look really, really good, kiddo.”

“Thanks. Messy hair and a potbelly was all I needed to woo the ladies, who knew?”

Ellen grinned. “And the gents, apparently. Pot belly. Right. You want any company right now?”

Dean shook his head. “No, thank you. I have to call Sam. We haven’t spoken since I first found out about this whole debacle and popped off on him about it. I’ve been...avoiding him isn’t the right term. More like refusing to acknowledge he exists at all.”

“Yeah. I hear you.”

“This morning he left me a voicemail. He never leaves voicemails, ever. He was crying. So…”

Ellen nodded. “Ouch. That had to be hard to listen to.”

“Yeah. I spent the entire flight practicing what I’m going to say to him, and I gotta get it out before I lose my nerve.”

“I know you’ll say the right thing. And you’re perfectly correct to be mad. He really messed up.”

Dean didn’t answer, and the doors to the 8th floor peeled open centimeter by centimeter at an excruciating pace as the elevator went silent. 

“Good luck, kiddo,” Ellen said quietly as Dean scooted out. 

“Thanks Ellen. It’s really great to see you. If you have time tomorrow-”

“Cas told me to set aside the whole day in case you need me. Don’t hesitate.”

“I won’t. Promise. Thank you.”

\----------------

Despite his resolve to call Sam, Dean in fact did lose his nerve and it took well over an hour of him pacing the room to get his courage back. He peeked into the little refrigerator at least four times and was surprised each time to see it filled to the brim with liquor. He distracted himself momentarily by texting Chuck to let him know, but Chuck wrote back that he already knew, and that was that. So Dean realized Cas either decided to trust him now, or he was just testing him. Either way, the alcohol held no appeal for Dean at all. It disgusted him, actually. He eventually unplugged the minibar, dragged it into one of the closets, and shut the door so that he didn’t have to look at it.

Once he had no more reason to keep stalling, he picked up his phone again to text Sam.

_\- Is now a good time?_

The phone rang seconds later, and Dean took a deep breath and slid the answer bar over.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Dude,” Sam said quietly, “yes. Absolutely fucking yes. Talk to me, _please_.”

Dean shook his head. “You know, since we last talked, I had this huge monologue planned out to hit you over the head with. Practiced it on the plane, wrote down some bullet points, the whole thing. Wanted to make sure I slammed you hard in every way possible, to make you feel as shitty as possible.”

Sam didn’t say anything; he just _hmm’d._

“But then…”

“Then what?” Sam asked cautiously after a few moments of silence.

Dean sighed. “Somewhere over the north pole it just hit me. Like, holy shit. I’m guessing that the way I feel right now is the way you felt about me every fucking time I went to jail for a DUI?”

“I don’t know, Dean,” Sam replied with a sniff. “Without knowing how you feel, I can’t answer that. And at first I was afraid to talk to you, but...just give it to me. You have every right, and I won’t argue.”

Dean sat down on his bed and looked up at the ceiling with another heavy sigh. “No, Sam. I’m not gonna lecture you. I...yeah, you screwed up. You know that, and you’re paying for it. Literally nothing I say is going to make either one of us feel better.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“How did your audition with the L.A. Phil go?”

Silence.

“Oh shit. That bad, huh.”

“No, I…” Sam cleared his throat and sniffled again. “It actually, I...I got in, Dean. Last chair for now, but I’m in.”

“Holy shit. Are you serious?”

“Yeah. But...I haven’t, I mean, I don’t feel happy about it. I haven’t even told anyone. You’re the first person who knows, and...fuck, man. Just yell at me! I’ll feel so much better.”

Dean swallowed hard. “This isn’t about feeling better about being a dumbass. This is about learning from mistakes and not making them again. So maybe you should feel bad for a while, the lesson will stick better.”

“Jesus. You sound like dad. I think he actually said that once.”

“Yeah, and he had a point. Speaking of which, this whole emotional rehab thing I went through? I’m not gonna rehash it, I’ll tell you about it later, but it did teach me one major thing that we both can benefit from right now. Absolutely nobody on this entire fucking planet is entitled to receive forgiveness, and no one is obligated to give it. So I’ll never forgive dad, ever, and I’m at peace with that now. I'm not a shitty person for refusing to do it.”

“Are you really okay with that?” Sam asked nervously. 

“Yeah, I am. I’ll never forgive him for turning you against me, most of all. You know that’s what he did, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. So right here, right now, I’m fucking wiping the slate clean. You get to start over with me. I’ll never bring up the past again as far as the shit that’s gone down between us. But that doesn’t mean you can’t still learn from it.”

 _Sniff._ “Okay. You haven’t...you weren’t always the best brother, either. This isn’t all my fault.”

“I know. But most of it is. So I want a clean slate too, Sammy. I deserve one. Will you give me that?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s not very convincing.”

“Yeah. Sorry, I’m...a little emotional right now. yes.”

Dean smiled to himself. “When I get back to Los Angeles we’re throwing the biggest fucking party ever to celebrate your big win. Listen, I gotta go get some food. It’s been a day. I’m sorry you’re not here, but I love you Sammy, and I miss you.”

“You too, Dean.” Sam was full-out crying now.

“Let’s talk again tomorrow. I gotta figure out what time zone I’m in.”

“Yeah, it’s 4am here.”

“Oh shit, sorry.”

Sam laughed. “It’s okay. All good. So glad to hear your voice. ”

“You too. One more thing. Tell me you’re not a drughead now?”

“I’m not, Dean. Benny got me into marijuana but I only did it like five times. I stopped.”

“Good. Go back to sleep, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Okay. Thanks, Dean. Bye. Love you.”

He hung up, and Dean laid down on the bed with a heavy flop. He looked over to the closet where the little minibar was stashed, fought back his sudden nausea, then texted Chuck again and asked him to schedule some time to talk to Castiel the next day.

Then he cried himself to sleep, and dreamed about his mother for ten hours straight.


	133. Chapter 133

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter. Dean wakes up in Tokyo and starts to get his bearings. I thought this part best stood alone before we move on to him meeting Charlie and catching up with Cas. Thank you for reading xoxo

Dean woke up slowly, not opening his eyes for a long while, and having no idea of what day it was or even _where_ he was, never mind the actual time of day. Rather than try to find out, he quickly decided to enjoy this feeling of being lost in space for as long as lasted, because surely when he figured it all out, the answers would be contrary to his wishes. 

No, for now, he was with his mom. Cooking with her. Making a mess. Watching her put on make-up. Riding in the car with little Sammy in his car seat.

That lasted a few minutes, until the dreams he already knew were just distant memories faded into oblivion. But still, it was comforting. When he did finally open his eyes just a crack, he still saw nothing. Heard nothing. It was like being blind and deaf.

_So pleasant. Comforting. Can it just always be this way._

He refused to let his mind wander, and focused on the physical sensations he was currently experiencing. Starting at his head and working his way down, he concentrated on how he felt. The slight twitch in his eyelid that had been annoying him for weeks was a little less noticeable, but still there. One arm askew and partially numb, his chest sweating under the heavy blankets, his empty stomach, and, oh...yeah, must have had a forgotten dream of a different kind, judging from the heaviness between his thighs. That was nice. His legs felt barely there; he was so relaxed, and utterly bereft of a single reason to move a millimeter.

He sighed and closed his eyes, shifting his arm slightly to return circulation to it, and tried to doze off again. But...

_Long plane ride._

_Should have walked around so I didn’t get a blood clot._

_Suitcase zipper broken. Damned TSA._

_Shut up, brain. Go back to sleep._

_Wait. What do they call the TSA in London?_

_The food wasn’t that bad, though._

_London? I wasn’t in London today._

_I was…_

_What’s the point of having a bellman when the suitcases all have wheels now?_

_I don’t even care where I am right now._

_But..._

_...Where am I?_

His eyes opened again, and he turned to look towards the other bed that he couldn’t see, not recalling yet that there was only one bed in this room. His heart began to beat a little faster.

“Sam?” he croaked. _Damn, I need some water_. “Sam.”

Nothing. 

“Damn it,” he said aloud as he reached over to his phone and tapped the screen. It lit up brightly, blinding him painfully. “Ow.”

He put it facedown on the nightstand rubbed his eyes. “Sammy.”

Then he reached over to click on the bedside lamp, and irritably fumbled for the switch for quite some time. Just as his finger finally found it, he suddenly remembered where he was. 

And where Sam _wasn’t._

He froze for at least ten seconds, mentally confirming his suspicions over and over again, then withdrew his hand without flipping the switch and picked up his phone again. A new text message from Cas was showing a preview on the lock screen, and he let his eyes adjust for a moment before reading it.

_\- Just checking up on you. Don’t worry about missing the dinner, I’m not upset, just let me know you’re okay._

Dean sat up a little higher and forced the cobwebs in his mind to part.

 

_Missing the dinner?_

_What dinner?_

_Oh…._

_Fuck._

—————-

“I’m so sorry, sir,” Dean said humbly as he entered Castiel’s equally tiny hotel room half an hour later.

“I thought I told you not to apologize?”

“No, you didn’t say exactly that. You said don’t worry. That’s not the same thing.”

Castiel nodded once. “Point taken. Regardless, I’m not upset. As I said.”

“Thank you. How was the dinner?”

“Terrible. The concertmaster was a total…”

“Dick?” 

“For lack of better words, yes. Although I think that’s an insult to every dick on earth, to be honest.”

“Another joke. Nice.” Dean grinned.

“I wasn’t joking. You should be glad you missed it. Why did you want to see me?”

Dean started a little. “I’m sorry, you said...you _did_ say to come see you when I was ready to talk, I thought?”

“I did. But it’s midnight.”

Dean looked at him sideways.

“What?”

“I said it’s midnight.”

Dean took a deep breath. “Oh crap. I’m just...wow, I’m so sorry. Thought it was like 9. Guess I’m really jet-lagged. I kind of feel upside down.”

“To be expected. But otherwise?”

“I’m good,” Dean answered quickly. 

“Good. You have tomorrow, Monday, off. We jump back into rehearsals with Charlie on Tuesday and Wednesday. Then we have four concerts in Tokyo starting Thursday before we head to Osaka on Monday.”

Dean nodded and rubbed his tired eyes again. “Yeah. I’m sorry, I’ll go now. Chuck was supposed to set a time for us to meet today. Tomorrow, I mean.”

“Tomorrow. Lunch at noon. This one I don’t give you permission to skip. You have to adjust to the time difference quickly, and we really need to talk as soon as possible.”

Castiel caught the unmistakable flash of alarm in Dean’s eyes. 

“Dean, _don’t_ go there. Stop. Whatever you’re thinking I’m thinking, you’re not even close.”

Dean’s mind flashed back to his second week of rehab, which had been the most memorable for many reasons. Mostly for the list of fifty directives he had to memorize and practice thoroughly on other residents before he could “graduate.”

_You are allowed to ask others to explain themselves..._

He steeled himself a little and tried not to look anxious. “What are we going to talk about, sir?”

“I don’t exactly have an agenda. But my number one priority is us deciding what we’re going to say when your absence comes up in future interviews. And to figure that out, I need to bring you up to date on what’s been said so far.”

_You are allowed to express your discomfort and ask for something different..._

“Understood. Can we not do that over lunch, then? Maybe a formal meeting would be better. I’m not sure I could stomach that kind of talk over a meal. Especially _your_ kind of meal, no offense.”

Castiel looked a little confused, but he answered, “I don’t see why not. If that would make you more comfortable, I suppose it would be more fitting in that environment. Let’s meet at 1pm, then, if you want to just have lunch on your own? I’ll have Chuck find a meeting room.”

“Sounds good. Thank you, sir.”

Castiel bid him goodbye, although visibly perturbed, but Dean didn’t let that bother him. He returned to his room with his stomach loudly complaining for food, and immediately opened the door to the closet. Then he crouched down and opened the minibar. It wasn’t one of the creepy automatic ones. Good.

He reached in and gingerly pulled out two handfuls of bottles of sake and beer, and set them on the floor. Then he reached further back in and pulled out the tray that held the small selection of snacks. All of them were printed in Japanese, so he picked two just by looks alone, and sat down on the floor to open them up and try them.

Disgusting, both of them. But Castiel would like them, food freak that he was, so Dean sealed them back up again and set them off to the side. Then he opened the next two bags. Even worse; one of them looked like raspberry something but tasted like fish. He set those aside with the others, pulled out the little tray of fruit, and decided against eating anything with spikes or thorns for the moment. Sighing with resignation, he carefully returned the beer and sake bottles to the fridge, then jammed the fruit tray back in and closed the door. Then the closet door, too, before going back to the nightstand and picking up the hotel directory. The room service menu said dinner service ended at 11pm. It was 12:20am. 

_You are allowed to ask for favors even when you have nothing to give in return._

He called down to the operator, politely explained that he was jet-lagged and hungry, and asked for room service. The man who answered was kind, said they were closed, but would see if anything was available to send to his room. Dean thanked the man and prepared to be disappointed as he changed his clothes and got ready for bed...again.

Ten minutes later, a knock on the door announced the arrival of a cart full of various foods. Dean was absolutely delighted to the point of nearly giving the man an American-style hug before he remembered that was listed as a huge no-no on the country etiquette sheet Chuck had sent the entire team a few days earlier. He contented himself instead with smiling and saying “arigato” a good dozen times as he chose a salad, some sushi, and a can of diet Coke.

Then he closed the door and sat down to partake, humming happily to himself as he ate and watched American news on mute with the captions on. He glanced once at the closet, but had no desire to ever open the door again. Not for snacks nor anything else.

_You are allowed to congratulate yourself for even the smallest of victories..._

_Good job, Dean._


	134. Chapter 134

Despite having met up with Cas and the others yesterday in the hotel lobby late yesterday morning, Dean was seized with the overwhelming, unpleasant sensation of being a total stranger to them as he met them after lunch. He felt so incredibly awkward walking in the room, like it was his first audition and his entire life depended on how well he handled himself in the next thirty minutes. His heart sped up rapidly and his breath caught in his throat a little as he made his way to a side table to fill a mug of water and collect himself.

“You okay, kiddo?” Bobby asked quietly as he walked up a few seconds later and grabbed a cup.

“Fine, thank you,” he replied steadily, although his hands were shaking visibly. That had been a side effect of the low-dose anxiety medicine he’d began taking four weeks ago, although it had stopped affecting him lately. He was suddenly irritated to have it happen again, but…

_You are allowed to publicly acknowledge your emotions._

“Actually, I’m a little nervous,” Dean admitted in a whisper. “It’s like a war room up in here. I was expecting to meet with Cas alone.”

“A war room is pretty much exactly what it is, yes. Are you up for it?”

“I don’t know.”

Bobby nodded. “Okay. It gets too much for you, say something.”

“Like what?” Dean laughed a little. “Gee, sorry my brother and I fucked everything up?”

“Gentlemen? We don’t have all day,” Cas called impatiently from the far side of the enormous conference table.

“Coming,” Bobby grumbled, and Dean looked sideways at him.

“Great. I was hoping he was in a better mood.”

“I can hear you,” Castiel replied instantly. 

“Sorry,” Dean replied meekly.

“Not a good way to start this meeting,” Castiel added harshly as Dean sat down with his face turning bright red. There was nothing Dean could say to that; Castiel was technically correct but subjectively wrong, since he was the one in a bad mood. But the last thing Dean was going to do was fight with him in front of everybody. Nor was he going to apologize again. So he waited, and said nothing.

Castiel looked at Michael, who slid a small stack of documents over to Dean. “These are your mentions in all the press releases since you left for New York. I’ve highlighted every time your name appears, and we’d like you to read them all over and start to practice what you’re going to say in the interviews with the Tokyo Star on Friday.”

“Um. What do you _want_ me to say?”

“We’re not going to dictate that. You have to decide.”

Dean didn’t touch the papers. “I want you to _tell me_ what you want me to say. Because I have no idea how to move on from here.”

Castiel cleared his throat loudly. “You had six weeks to think about it.”

“I never came to any conclusion,” Dean admitted firmly. “Besides, this is your tour, sir. I’ll say whatever you want.”

Cas shook his head. “You’re not taking the easy way out. Not this time. By tomorrow at noon I-”

“What do you mean _not this time_?” Dean asked, a little too irritably. Was Cas taking a crack at his hasty retreat, or...?

“That was the wrong way to say it,” Castiel half-explained a moment later. “I simply meant that this is probably going to be harder than you’re prepared for.”

“How would you know that? We haven’t even talked yet. This meeting was supposed to be one-on-one meeting, by the way. You tricked me.”

Bobby placed a firm hand on Dean’s forearm. “Take it easy, kiddo,” he warned.

Dean pushed his chair back from the table abruptly and stood up. “I’m sorry, guys. I thought I was ready for this. I’m not. I’m...I gotta go.”

He turned and all but ran from the room in a half-panic, which only got exponentially worse when Castiel followed him out.

“Dean. _Dean_. Stop.”

Dean sped up and jabbed the elevator button, praying fervently for it to get there before Cas could reach him, but it was in vain. He heard the meeting room door slam behind him, and suddenly he was face to face with his irritated boss.

“You’re out of line,” Castiel observed firmly as he stood in front of the elevator and faced his violinist.

Dean said nothing as he fought to control his increasingly rapid breathing. 

“Are you going to your room? I’m coming with you.”

“Thanks, but no. I’ve got this.”

“Please calm down, Dean. You misconstrued my meaning.”

“Probably. But can we discuss this later?” Dean sputtered, his senses all aflame and his adrenaline rushing like Niagara Falls. He stepped into the elevator and sighed in frustration when Cas joined him and pressed the 3 button.

“You’re panicking. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Dean admitted. “I think the time change threw me off. I took my medication at…”

“What medication?”

“I screwed up with the time difference. More like...38 hours in between doses instead of 24. Crap.”

Castiel stepped aside to let Dean out as the elevator arrived and the doors creaked open. 

“ _What_ medication?” Castiel pressed. “Are you sick?”

_You are allowed to confide in those closest to you..._

“No, sir. At least, not physically. I’m taking stuff for anxiety and depression, okay? Please don’t judge me.”

Castiel looked completely thrown for a loop as Dean dug into his pockets for his room key. 

“I’ve been on mood-stabilizing drugs for a dozen years, Dean. So I’m the last person who should look down on you.”

“You have?” Dean glanced aside at Cas in surprise as they walked down the tiny hallway to his tiny room.

“Yes. Doesn’t always work, as you’ve observed. Especially when I don’t take them on time. You’ve got to do better.”

Dean sighed and popped open his door. “I know. Still getting used to it. Look, I’m just upset with you because I wasn’t expecting some kind of panel interview. Feeling a bit ambushed right now, to be honest.”

“My apologies. That wasn’t the intention.”

“Do you remember what you used to say to me in the first few weeks after we met? _Screw intention. It means nothing if what you actually produce is crap.”_

Castiel cocked his head a little and followed Dean into the room, carefully holding the door halfway open so that things didn’t get weird.

“Alright, Dean, I get it. I already apologized. There’s no need to be so combative.”

“Why did you tell Chuck to leave the liquor in my fridge?” Dean asked suddenly, standing stock-still on the other side of his bed. “Was it some kind of psychological test?”

“A...a _test_? What on earth makes you think that?”

Dean spread his hands in a _you tell me?_ gesture.

Castiel shook his head. “I don’t know why you’re trying to pick a fight with me, but it’s not going to work.”

“Just answer the question, please, so I can get past this. It’s really bugging me. Sir.”

“I…” Cas looked a little lost for a second. “Fine. The retreat considers me your sponsor and last week they sent me some...for lack of a better term, ‘post-care instructions’ for you. The very first one was not to deny access to anything you were once addicted to, because it shows a lack of trust.”

“Post-care instructions,” Dean parroted flatly.

“I know, it makes it sound like you’re a dog coming home from the vet after being neutered.”

“That’s not far off,” Dean replied bitterly. “What other _instructions_ were you given?”

Now Castiel let the door shut behind him, and he took a step closer to Dean at the same time. “To be patient with your frustration at being thrust back into the real world without the protection of your former surroundings. And to understand that I shouldn’t take your inevitable anger towards me personally.”

“Oh.” Dean felt deeply ashamed at his attitude suddenly, and his chest burned a little with the effort of not getting emotional. Cas was _trying_. He really was, even if was in his usual awkward, slightly misguided way.

“I’m going to be as patient as I can, but that doesn’t mean I’ll put up with this kind of insolence forever. You have to do better, and fast. We’ve got a long road ahead of us before this tour is over. Do you understand my meaning?”

Dean nodded contritely. “Understood. I’ll do better. What was the public’s reaction to Sam leaving?”

“Not good. But also not your fault, so don’t worry about it. You probably already figured out that there is going to be a ton of pressure on you to perform as well as you did seven weeks ago. I believe in you, and I know that’s not going to be a problem, but the question is whether or not _you_ believe in you.”

“Are you asking me that now?”

“Yes.”

Dean swallowed hard. “I...look, this program did a lot of great things for me. But it couldn’t do everything. I still have a long way to go.”

“So is that a no?”

“It’s a no,” Dean confirmed reluctantly. 

Castiel looked away. “I see.”

“Don’t give up on me, please,” Dean pleaded quietly. “It’s not like I don’t want to. John did a lot of damage to me that six weeks isn’t going to magically erase.”

Castiel paused, but decided not to remark upon the way Dean referred to his dad as John, and not dad, as he had always done. It was interesting, but he’d have to think about it more later.

“Okay. Thank you for being truthful. I’m giving you exactly one hour to pull yourself back together and come back down to the meeting room to talk with everyone. If you want to talk with me alone later, I’ll make myself available. But right now the priority is to get this tour back on track and decide how we’re going to address your absence with the press.”

He started to leave, but Dean called him back. “Wait, Cas. Please.”

“Yes.”

“Look, I...it’s just you and me right now. Nobody else is listening, nobody has to know I asked you this or that you answered it. I deserve a straight answer. What do _you_ want me to say about this whole thing? Never mind anyone else’s opinion, not even mine.”

Castiel hesitated. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me! Come on. Just tell me. Please.”

Castiel looked around the room a little bit as if he was hoping someone else would answer, then he shrugged and crossed his arms. “Michael doesn’t agree with me. Or Bobby, or Chuck. If it were my decision alone, I would want you to be completely transparent, and eventually try to become a role model for those with similar mental health problems. I mean, you’ve been so low, and...now look where you are. Headlining a world tour. It could make a difference to someone.”

Dean wasn’t expecting that at all, and now he got why Cas had been hesitating to throw that out there. That was _huge,_ and extraordinarily complicated, and absolutely unthinkable. No doubt if that’s what Dean decided to do, his brothers would veto it instantly.

“Oh,” Dean squeaked helplessly, his thoughts suddenly turning into scrambled eggs.

“You have one hour to get back down to the meeting room. If you’re late-”

“I won’t be late,” Dean said hastily. “In fact...can we go back down now? I’m sorry for being such a shit. I mean, for being a brat.”

“You were right the first time,” Castiel rejoined with a grimace. “At any rate, no. I want to talk to my team first and go over some stuff we were going to review later anyway.”

“But I’m fine.”

“I said no. One hour. In fact, I want you to go meet Charlie and get your violins; they’re stored in her room. She’s in 321, which is right next door. I’ll see you at 2:15.” 

He left, and Dean sighed irritably and flopped onto his bed. 

 _Post-care instructions._  

_Seriously??_

He picked up his phone and called Sam, and braced himself for an argument.

\------------------

“... _then_ he says he wants me to be transparent and maybe make a difference for someone else. So I don’t know what to think now.”

Silence on the other end of the line.

“Sam?”

“Yeah, I’m here. Sorry. I can’t imagine his brothers would be keen on that one.”

“No, they’re not. He’s already said so. Not to mention I’m not keen on it, either. Honestly, Sam, I don’t know what to do.”

Sam grunted. “At least you have a choice. Did you hear what they said about me?”

“No. What did they say?”

“That I was dismissed from the tour for performance issues. _Performance issues._ Like, what the fuck. Thanks for ruining my career, assholes.”

Dean scrunched up his eyebrows. “They didn’t ruin anything. You joined the freakin’ L.A. Philharmonic, dude. You’re doing just fine.”

There was another very long, worrisome silence on the other line. “Yeah. Um. About that.”

Dean’s nerves tingled in alarm from his head to his toes, and back again. “Oh my god. What?”

“Well, they’re um...they’re gonna drug test me tomorrow. Part of the hiring process, they do it with everyone. There’s no fucking way I’m going to pass, Dean. I would rather back out than be rejected, so…”

“So, what?” 

“Well, I’m kind of writing an email now to the artistic director to let him know that I won’t pass it, so I’m withdrawing my candidacy.”

“Dude, you can’t,” Dean nearly squealed as he sat upright. “Stop. Hang on.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Yeah, you do! Don’t put that shit in writing. Jesus, Sam. You’re a lawyer, have some sense!”

“Oh,” Sam replied sheepishly. “You’re right. I’ll just take that part out and not explain.”

“Oh my god, no. Stop. Look, don’t do anything until I call you back. I have to go into a meeting with the executive team for a little bit. Promise me that you won’t withdraw yet, Sam. Let’s talk about this a little more. _Sam_?”

“What’s there to talk about?”

Dean felt slightly panicky now, and he looked over at the bag that held his anxiety medication. It was too soon to take it again.

“Don’t do anything. I will call you back in exactly one hour. Okay? Promise me.”

“Okay, fine, Jesus. I promise. Wasn’t going to send this until morning anyway, calm down.”

“Good. I gotta go, talk to you soon.”

Dean hung up and looked at his clock. He was late for the meeting by several minutes. _Fuck._

\----------------

“Nice of you to join us,” Gabriel said with a smirk as Dean reappeared in the meeting room. Castiel stood up immediately to intercept his wayward violinist.

“Come with me for a sec. Gentlemen, we’ll be right back.”

Dean followed Cas into the hallway, barely able to breathe in his anxiety as the door shut to allow them some privacy.

“I thought I told you not to be late?” Castiel asked tightly, his face a picture of annoyance. 

“I’m sorry, sir. I just got off the phone with Sam and we’ve got a huge problem. He auditioned and got into the L.A. Phil but has a drug test tomorrow.”

Dean didn’t need to say anything else, it was obvious what exactly the problem was.

“When you say _we’ve_ got a problem, who are you referring to?” Castiel asked irritably. “Because that sounds like something Sam has to deal with himself, and certainly no excuse for you to be late for this meeting.”

“No, but…he’s...sir, do you know anyone who could help?”

Castiel looked aghast at him. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“I’m not. You must know someone? You know everybody.”

“Absolutely not. Dean, get in the meeting room and don’t ask me again.”

He pulled open the door and gestured towards the table; it took every ounce of strength Dean had to propel himself to a chair to sit down. He looked towards Michael, who was apparently the only one in the room unflustered by Dean’s late arrival.

“Do you have any thoughts yet on how you want to address your absence?” Michael asked calmly. “I’m working with Chuck to schedule some interviews in two days and we really need to get our ducks in a row.”

“Yeah, I um...I want to say that I needed time off to address a health problem that’s now been solved, and leave it at that. I don’t think my mental issues are anyone’s business but mine. So let’s do that. Can I go now?”

“Dean,” Castiel warned. “Settle down. We’re going to go over the next week’s schedule now, and talk about some of the changes that have taken place in your absence. Bobby, the handouts, please.”

Dean took the handouts but could not read them in all his anxiety, he nodded and hmm’d as the meeting went along...dragged along...apologized when Castiel admonished him for not meeting Charlie as he’d instructed...signed off on the new media guidelines...and automatically answered a few rote questions. 

When Castiel finally dismissed the meeting, Dean was on his feet before everyone else. “Bobby, do you have a second?” he asked quickly.

“Sure, kiddo. Come on.”

They went out into the hallway, and Dean was already well aware that Bobby was all but ready to strangle him for his inattention during the meeting.

“I’m sorry, let me explain what’s bothering me.” Which he did, briefly, before asking Bobby if he knew anyone who could help.

Bobby shook his head. “Can’t, kiddo. Sorry. I don’t know if he’s done other drugs, or how often, or what. I’m not willing to go to bat for him, considering his behavior on this tour.”

“He hasn’t done anything else. He said Rome was the last time, and that was over three weeks ago. I mean, when in Europe...and especially in Amsterdam, it’s not a big deal to smoke weed. I just don’t feel like his career should be ruined because of this. Especially since he’s already dealing with the disgrace of having been thrown off the tour. It’s really humbled him.”

“If anyone’s going to help him, it would be Cas, and he can’t do that while he’s also suing him.”

Dean groaned and braced himself. “I...I did ask him anyway. He refused to help. God, I’m stupid. I didn’t even think about the whole lawsuit thing.”

Bobby shook his head. “You gotta get your head screwed back on straight, kiddo.”

“Oh god,” Dean groaned, then stepped back as Castiel and his brothers appeared in the hallway, followed closely by Chuck. His heart stopped a little at Cas’s expression.

“Dean, come back in the meeting room with me for a minute,” the man said gravely.

 _Fuck, really_? Dean sighed internally and reluctantly followed him.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked placidly.

_You are allowed to admit that you are not okay._

“No, sir, I’m sorry, I’m worried for Sam and I feel stupid that I asked you to help, considering.”

Castiel took a deep breath. “I just let my brothers know what’s going on. They said we can allow Bobby to help him.”

“You...wait...what?” Dean was flabbergasted, and convinced he hadn’t heard correctly.

“We’ll allow Bobby to help Sam. I’ve asked my contact to get a hold of him ASAP.”

Dean nearly rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. “I...why? I mean, why did you change your mind? Not that I’m complaining! I’m just confused?”

“Look, Dean,” Castiel said tiredly as he rubbed his face. “You know I’m no fan of your brother. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want him to find success again. Everyone deserves a second chance. Speaking of which, the next time you come into a meeting with a poor attitude like what we just had to sit through, late or not, you’re going to have an appointment with my cane immediately afterwards to set you to rights again. Are we clear?”

Dean swallowed down the lump in his throat as he locked eyes with his clearly conflicted and frustrated boss. “Yes, sir,” he said simply, knowing he fully deserved such a dire threat.

“Like I said, I only have so much patience and you’re already wearing it thin within 24 hours of your return. Lock it up, and get your priorities in order.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean repeated firmly, his heart feeling suddenly crushed. “Won’t happen again. Thank you so much for helping my brother.”

“It’s not entirely for his sake. I need your head in the game, and that’s not going to happen if you’re all wrapped up in his problems.”

Dean felt a little disappointed at that, just for a moment, but he pushed it aside. “I understand,” he said feebly.

“Dean, there’s one more thing you need to know before we part again. And I do want to talk to you later about other stuff, but for now, keep one thing in mind at all times, please.”

“What, sir?”

“I’m not your enemy.”

Dean blinked in surprise. “I...I never said that.”

“You certainly act like it sometimes.”

Castiel’s face was as close to sad as Dean had ever seen it, and it _hurt._

“You...I...while I was in rehab I tried to come to terms with that,” Dean admitted, a catch in his throat making him pause before he said his next words. “I think the world of you, but I’m just really shitty at expressing it. Everything comes out wrong and backwards, and...but also, I do kind of resent the control you have over me, to be honest, and it just sort of erases all the good things sometimes. I get it, that you _have_ to do it because of my history, but...anyway, I’m sorry.”

Cas nodded. “Yes, our shared history and your... _unpredictability_ necessitates those controls. That being said, after the tour is over, I’d very much appreciate an actual friendship with you without the stress of being my employee. I hope we can look forward to that at least, and try to put aside our differences for the next four months to focus on the bigger picture.”

Well, that did it. _Floodgates open._

“There’s no need to get emotional,” Castiel added after a long, awkward pause.

“Sorry,” Dean said as he wiped his eyes with his arm. “I’m such a pain in the ass.”

“You are a handful,” Castiel replied dryly, which dragged out a smile from Dean.

“Way to be diplomatic. Listen, um…” he dried his eyes quickly. “I guess that place really knows what they’re doing if they sent you instructions on how to deal with me afterwards. Did it say anything about me getting stupidly emotional for no reason at all?”

“Not in those exact words, but something like it.”

Dean laughed a little. “Is there any hope for me, according to them?”

“I’m sure there is. They sent me a 30-page report of your progress from beginning to end. It’s meant for parents or close family of patient, which I’m obviously not. But they didn’t know that, I guess.”

“They know. I explained who you are. Are you going to read it?” he asked, a little timidly.

“No,” Castiel responded firmly. “It’s not my place. Whenever you choose a permanent therapist, they should be the one to read it.”

“Like Ellen?” Dean asked hopefully. “I was going to ask her, if you’re okay with that.”

“It’s fine with me.”

Another very long, awkward pause, which Dean broke with a final sniff.

“Cas...I’m not saying I’m a hundred percent fixed and all is going to be fluffy clouds and ponies from now on, but I’m really, _really_ determined not to let you down again.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“And I…” well shit, here goes… “And I actually _want_ you to read the report, too. If you have time, I mean. I’m not ashamed anymore of what I’ve been through, and what I’ve done, or how I’ve had to fix it. The only thing that matters now is the future.”

“That’s a good attitude,” Castiel said quietly. “I think we should get together in a few hours and review your contract. The code of conduct, in particular, and the disciplinary guidelines. A few things in there might be a little outdated now and have to be re-negotiated.”

Dean nodded. “Like 5pm?”

“Sure. Then dinner afterwards, if you’re feeling brave enough.”

Dean cracked a smile again. “Brave, or stupid? Sure. See you then.”


	135. Chapter 135

5pm rolled around, and Dean found himself standing in the shower for over an hour, nearly paralyzed with dread and worry. What was in that report, exactly? Why had he asked Cas to read it? What embarrassing tidbits would he find that Dean could never live down, ever?

He heard his phone buzzing on the countertop of the bathroom but didn’t move to answer, and turned the hot water up even hotter so that he was nearly suffocating in the steam. His anxiety medicine wasn’t doing the trick yet, although he had taken an extra half-dose as instructed in times of dire need. _Kick in, damn you, before I give myself a stroke._

The phone kept buzzing incessantly, and Dean rubbed a circle on the foggy glass to create a clear window to peek out at who was calling. But it was his alarm, not a call, and with a sigh he turned the water off and stood there shivering for a few moments before yanking open the door and grabbing three towels to bury himself in as he jabbed the ‘stop’ button. Late for his meeting with Cas, again. But for whatever reason, he didn’t care. Castiel would understand, he was in tune now with Dean’s issues and would no doubt be forgiving and caring and understanding...

_Or maybe not._

And yep, there was his call coming through now that would answer the question. Dean did manage to smile a little at his phone’s new “Game of Thrones/ Marimba-Remix” ringtone, but only very briefly.

“I know I’m late, sorry,” he blurted preemptively upon answering the call.

“Why exactly are you late, Dean? _Again_?”

Dean took a deep breath as he wrapped a towel more tightly around his torso. “I...well, it’s not because I wasn’t watching the clock. I just…”

“You just what?”

Dean sighed. “Um, I...I changed my mind about wanting you to read the report from Soul Refuge. I’m sorry.”

“Unfortunately, it’s too late. I just finished it in the fifteen minutes I’ve been waiting for you to show up. Needless to say, I expect and require better communication from you in the immediate future.”

 _Fuck, Dean. You’re such an idiot._ He closed his eyes in pain. “Understood. Where would you like me to meet you? I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Same conference room as yesterday.” Castiel hung up, and Dean nearly smacked himself in the forehead in frustration. God, but he was an impossible wretch sometimes...

\-----------------------

Dean walked in with his head held high, despite his trepidation. Castiel was sitting at the table with the contract in front of him, as well as his iPad, phone, several pens, and a notebook.

“Sit down,” he said shortly, and then grunted slightly as Dean complied.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Dean said calmly; he didn’t feel obliged to repeat his non-explanation.

Castiel ignored that and handed over a copy of the contract. “I need you to tell me what you want to change before I make any suggestions. I’m not going to-”

He broke off as his phone rang loudly, and Dean could see that Bobby’s name was on the screen.

“One moment Dean, sorry. Yes?”

There was a long pause as Castiel’s expression got darker and darker, and Dean shifted uncomfortably in his chair twice before his boss spoke again.

“Tell him that’s not possible...for obvious reasons, I don’t need to offer any explanation...he’s right here. I’ll tell him. Thank you.”

“Tell me what?” Dean blurted as Cas hung up and looked at him seriously.

“That my contact at the L.A. Philharmonic won’t consider giving Sam an offer if he fails the test. Unless I say to do it anyway, because he owes me a few favors. Long story short, he wasn’t impressed by Bobby’s intervention.”

Dean couldn’t breathe suddenly, and frantically rubbed his forehead with both hands and tried not to panic. _Fuck. Sam..._

“So that’s that. We need to go over this contract, first of all-”

“Sir, wait, please,” Dean interrupted politely. “You said he deserves a second chance.”

“Bobby making that call _was_ Sam’s second chance. It’s ultimately the L.A. Phil’s decision though, not mine. We did the best that we could.”

“But...I thought...maybe I heard wrong. If you said yes, would they do it?”

Castiel was calm now, his face completely devoid of his earlier annoyance. “I’m suing Sam for performance-related issues, Dean. How on earth would it look if I recommended him now?”

“He’s a good musician, sir!”

“Yes he is, I completely agree. He’s also selfish, impulsive, childish, and insolent. Not that any of that matters if he still has drugs in his system.”

Dean felt his panic rising yet again. “But…”

Castiel’s expression softened, and it was clear that he was incredibly conflicted about the situation. “I can’t, Dean. It would be extraordinarily hypocritical, not to mention expose me to a lot of risk if Sam were to behave the same way he behaved on the tour. Or even worse, continue to smoke weed.”

“He won’t. He was like that because of me, and because of you. But with us out of the picture, he’ll be different.”

“You can’t guarantee that.”

“Sir, please,” Dean pleaded as he wiped the sudden beads of sweat from his forehead. “Look, Sam’s got money. He’ll pay you a settlement, you can get this lawsuit over quickly, then...then…actually, maybe you could even drop it?”

Castiel shook his head; his tone was gentle. “I can’t, Dean. It’s not that I don’t want to. I literally _can’t_.”

Dean felt his heart falling to his feet and through the floor as he stared at his boss in stunned silence.

“You _said_ he deserved a second chance,” he repeated feebly. “I don’t understand.”

Castiel shook his head slightly and sighed. “Dean. Don’t do this guilt trip thing to me. I’ve done everything for you. _Everything_ you ever wanted. But I’m not doing this, because it’s too much to ask and there’s too much risk.”

Dean nodded in defeat as his eyes started to blur, and his heart started to just barely beat again. _Fuck, but this hurt. Sam…_

“Yes, sir. What did you want to change about my contract?”

“What?”

“My contract,” Dean prodded politely as he picked up his copy. “I don’t have any changes to make, since you asked. I’m fine with the old one.”

Castiel reeled a little at the sudden change of subject. “Are you sure? The disciplinary rider-”

“It’s fine,” Dean interrupted flatly.

“But the report from your counselors made it clear that you weren’t happy with the way things have been going on tour, because you felt I’m too controlling. You can talk to me about this, I’m not going to argue. I’ve heard the same dozens of times from my brothers. Especially when they were younger. What do you want to change?”

“Nothing, sir. Thank you for asking. Everything’s fine.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed; clearly he didn’t believe Dean for even a fraction of a second. 

“You’re angry with me.”

“No, sir. I’m just tired.” The polite way Dean said that was almost convincing, but Castiel knew him better than that.

“I’m not going to say you shouldn’t be upset. I would be, too. But I’m still asking you to understand my position.”

“I do, sir, completely,” Dean replied, not looking at him directly. “Do we have anything else to talk about besides my contract?”

Castiel eyed him suspiciously, then picked up his iPad. “Yes. This assessment of your time at Soul Refuge.”

Dean said nothing.

“It was enlightening, to say the least. I know you didn’t want me to read it, but I’m glad I did. Learned a lot about you, including your propensity to change subjects abruptly and shut others out in order to avoid a fight. Sound familiar?”

Now Dean looked up at him, and squared his shoulders while setting his jaw.

“Fine. Let’s fight, then,” Dean retorted hotly. “You’re wrong not to help him, and nothing you can say will change my mind.”

“I’m not trying to change your mind. I literally _just_ _said_ you have a right to be upset with me.”

Dean looked puzzled. “So...you’re just going to let me be mad?”

“Do I have a choice? I get the savior complex you have when it comes to Sam, but if we’re going to be honest, I think it’s about damned time he suffers real consequences of his poor choices. He’s been coddled for so many years. By your dad, by you, by me at first. _At first._ Then I realized what kind of person he really is.”

“So that gives you the right to ruin his life?” Dean barked.

Castiel’s eyes narrowed even further. “Is that what you think? _Really,_ Dean?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Dean responded defensively as he fought back tears. “You’re punishing him twice for the same thing. It’s not fair.”

There was a very long pause in which Castiel took this in, while Dean also regretted his harsh words. But they were said, and they were done. He couldn’t take them back now. He just stared at Castiel with his heart in shreds, knowing their relationship would probably never recover from this.

Castiel picked up his phone and made a call while Dean just sat there and watched. Then he set the phone down on the table and hit the speaker button.

“Mr. Novak? Is Dean okay?”

Dean sat up with a jerk. “Sam?”

“Dean?”

“Yes, he’s fine,” Castiel grumbled. “We’re having a bit of an argument over you. I realize it’s midnight there-”

“No, I’m awake. What’s going on?”

 _What are you doing?_ Dean mouthed.

Castiel cleared his throat. “I have a question for you. Several, actually. First of all, I know that you have a drug test tomorrow.”

“Dean, what the hell?”

“Wait, Sam. Hear me out. I have an opportunity to intervene and get you hired regardless of the test results.”

Silence. Dead silence, but Dean could swear his throbbing heartbeat was rattling the table.

“Okay. I’m listening,” Sam finally said, sounding tinny over the little speaker.

“Good. Have you smoked weed since Rome?”

“No, sir.”

“Done any other drugs since Rome?”

“No, sir.”

“Would you accept my intervention?”

More silence, and Castiel shot a warning glance at Dean when he started to open his mouth.

Sam finally spoke a few long moments later. “I...what’s the catch? The price, or whatever?”

“Three things. One, you’ll pay me your contract termination fee and a settlement of equal amount within 48 hours. Can you afford that?”

“Yes, sir,” Sam replied, sounding a little strangled. “What else?”

“Secondly, I want a written agreement that you will forever abide by the code of conduct that L.A. Philharmonic currently has in place. I literally want you to copy the entire thing out in your own writing, sign it, and send it to me. I’m going to hold you accountable for that through my contacts with the orchestra. One of whom is a _very_ dear family friend. The moment you slip, it’s over.”

“Um. Okay. Fair enough.”

“Lastly, I want you to write and send a heartfelt and thoughtful apology for the way you’ve treated Dean for the past nine years, and pledge to be a better brother and human being from now on. He is going to be the one holding you accountable to that. You mess that up, and same result - it’s over.”

Dean face-palmed. This was a disaster. Sam would _never_ accept such a humiliating-

“I agree. Thank you, sir. I don’t have the code of conduct yet, obviously, since I haven’t been hired, but the moment I do, I'll get started on it. And, um. That apology letter? I’m...it’s long overdue. So I’m happy to agree to that.”

“Excellent. Dean, any questions?”

“Noooooo,” Dean moaned miserably.

“Good. That’s settled, then. I’ll make the call when it’s morning there tomorrow.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Castiel hung up abruptly, before Sam could say anything else, and turned to Dean.

“I realize you’re probably angrier with me now than when we started, but you got what you wanted. Your brother will be fine after he gets over the shock of what he just agreed to.”

Dean still had his face buried in his hands.

_Holy fuck._

_Did that really just happen?_

“Dean?”

_You are allowed to let people help you when you’re unable to help yourself..._

“Holy shit. You just _did that_ , Cas.”

“Yes, I did.”

Dean looked up. “I...I don’t even know what to say. I…that was just so completely unexpected.”

“Yes. I didn’t plan it, it was completely spontaneous.”

“You did it for me, though.” That wasn’t a question. Dean’s eyes were moist again.

“Well, it certainly wasn’t for me. I know I’m going to end up regretting this.”

Dean laughed a little in his shock. “No. You won’t. I swear, you won’t. Holy shit, Cas. Thank you.”

Castiel wasn’t smiling back, in fact he looked like he was facing an execution squad.

“I’ll have conditions for you to follow as well, and they’ll be reflected in a newly revised Code of Conduct.” He picked up Dean’s contract again. “So let’s talk about the changes we're going to need to make...”


	136. Chapter 136

_Self-care? He can’t be serious._

“Self-care is for girls,” Dean complained bitterly, but low enough in volume that Castiel didn’t hear it.

“Pardon?”

“I said...yes, sir. Self-care regimen every day. I don’t even know what that means, but okay.”

“Look it up. I’m not going to walk you through it. Anything else you’d like to complain about before we finalize this?”

Dean sucked in a breath. He had been pushing Cas, he knew it already, but the man’s tone indicated an increased level of irritation that finally threw up a danger flag in front of Dean’s face. He sat up a little straighter and shook his head. “No, sir, no complaints. I’m good.”

“Thank god. Read the changes back, then. If we’re both agreed, I’ll have Michael formally amend the contract.”

 _Sigh_. Dean reluctantly picked up the red-lined copy of the contract that they had both been working on for a slightly contentious and awkward two hours.

“Do I really have to read it out loud? I already agreed to all this.”

Castiel’s nostrils flared a little. “Dean, I’m extremely low on patience right now.”

“I know, but sir, it makes me feel like a child-”

“ _Read it_.”

Dean all but threw the contract down on the table and glared at his boss. “We’ve already gone over this _three times_. So you’re not the only one who’s low on patience right now, with all due respect. Just amend it already.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed, again. “ _With all due respect_ , I’m not convinced you actually agree to or even understand the changes, especially with the attitude you’re giving me right now.”

“Self-care is for girls,” Dean blurted with a scowl. “So are journals.”

“I knew it,” Castiel grumbled. “I told you that as your sponsor, I’m only following the suggestions that were given to me by your counselors. These are people _you_ chose to help you.”

“Yeah, but I never agreed to a sponsor! I’m a grown man, I can deal with my own shit. You said to me at the very beginning of this meeting that you knew I was unhappy with being controlled, and now your solution is just to institute more controls? How does that make sense?”

“These aren’t _my_ solutions, Dean. You’re not listening to me at all. I don’t want to babysit you, either.”

“And you’re not listening to me. You never have. I don’t want you all up in my business every five seconds, telling me how much to sleep and what to eat and how to think. Why don’t you hold my dick for me every time I take a piss, too?”

Dean got to his feet, jammed his arms into his jean jacket, and swiftly left the room while Castiel stared after him, astonished almost beyond comprehension.

\----------------

Not even twenty minutes later, as Dean was standing in his room seriously contemplating packing up all of his shit and returning back to Los Angeles, he received a text from Sam

_ << Hey. Can’t sleep. You think Cas is gonna come through in the morning? _

_ >> Considering I’m about to sell my fucking soul for you he’d better come through _

_ << What the hell? _

_ >> And if you fuck it up I’m going to kill you _

_ << Call me _

_ >> No _

He picked up anyway when his phone rang with Sam’s number a few seconds later.

“Dean, what’s going on? You’re freaking me out.”

In a rush of words Dean explained exactly what was going on, along with an extra dose of profanity and indignation.

“Dude, calm down,” Sam said after a few minutes. “Holy shit, you’re going to give yourself a stroke all worked up like this. Take a deep breath.”

“I don’t need a fucking sponsor,” Dean repeated for the tenth time. “I can’t even stand the thought of alcohol right now. Treating me like a child with all this keeping-a-diary shit.”

“Hang on. So he’s doing all this as some kind of trade? Like, he won’t help me if you don’t agree to all of that?”

“No...he didn’t, it’s not like that. I think he’s going to help you regardless.”

Sam scoffed. “But why? He freakin’ hates me. He’s suing me. I’m so confused by all this!”

“Hang on, his dumbass brother is texting me right now.”

“Which one?”

<< _I have a car picking us up for dinner in 15 minutes. Be down in the lobby in 14 minutes._

_ >> Um. Did you mean this for someone else? _

_ << No, Dean. Don’t be late. _

“Is he fucking serious?” Dean breathed.

“What now?”

“Michael wants to go to dinner. Actually, I think he’s _ordering_ me to go to dinner.”

“You should go.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Dean replied with a humorless laugh. “After everything I just told you, that’s your advice?”

“Yep. And by the way, you haven’t answered my question. Why is Cas helping me?”

“Probably to keep me from quitting. Benny’s already gone home.”

Sam snorted a little. “Jesus, Dean. What exactly did you do for six weeks, sit around and bathe yourself in pity water? Come on. You can do better than this.”

Dean laughed bitterly again. “Have you met me? Hang on, I have to respond to this.”

_ << I don’t see dinner on the schedule. Has it changed? _

_ >> 13 minutes. _

_ << Just you and me? _

_ >> Yes. _

_ << Do I have to? _

_ >> You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But it is in your best interests to meet with me. 12 minutes. _

Dean sighed. “Shit. I gotta go, Sam.”

“You’re going to dinner, right?”

“Of course I am. Did I ever really have a choice?”

\------------------------------------------------------------------

The ride to the restaurant was thankfully short, only about 6 blocks, for Michael sat stone-faced and fuming next to Dean in the towncar the entire way. He hadn’t said a word, but Dean got the feeling he was lucky to still be alive at the moment.

Once they were seated in the private booth, though, the silence vanished.

“Just a quick question for you to start off, Dean,” Michael said as he picked up his glass of water and took a long drink. “Simple yes or no answer, please.”

“Okay,” Dean replied with trepidation. His hands were under the table in his lap to keep Michael from seeing them shake.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” 

Dean squeezed his thighs together to keep himself from getting up and bolting.

“I....sometimes I feel like it, yeah.”

Michael shook his head. “First you ask Cas to help you with Sam’s little problem, despite an enormous conflict of interest that I’m only now just wrapping my brain around. Then after he agrees, you go off on him - Cas, I mean, and...you disrespect him like that. Not even an hour ago. I honestly don’t even know what to think.”

“I’m sorry-”

“I’m not done,” Michael snapped. “Not even close, so keep your mouth shut. I know you and I got started off on the wrong foot from the very beginning, but you know what? You earned my admiration and respect over time, and until now, that’s never wavered. How you’re going to get it back now, I don’t know. But that’s not what upsets me. It’s that you don’t care about getting it back. Mine, or Castiel’s, or anyone else’s. You’re so intent on stomping on everyone who has ever believed in you, that you can’t take a moment to appreciate them instead. I kept you out of jail, Dean. I vetoed my own brother the last time he fired you, and kept you on the tour. There’s so much behind the scenes you have no idea about, and...you know what, maybe it was a bad idea to do this over dinner. I’ve lost my appetite.”

He broke off and sat back as the waiter reappeared with some wine, which Dean waved off. 

“Michael, just hear me out for a sec. Please,” Dean pleaded quietly. When the waiter disappeared, he took a deep breath and dived in. “Look, I...I told Castiel this. Those six weeks didn’t fix me. They helped, yes, but I’m...shit, I’m permanently broken. You know that. Everyone knows that! So to expect me to come back in here and be the perfect little stepford wife within 48 hours isn’t fair. I need time to adjust.”

“You need your ass kicked from here to the moon and back, that’s what you need.”

Dean picked up his water but found he couldn’t actually take a sip; he was a nervous wreck and Michael’s glare wasn’t helping matters at all.

“Dean, I have an ultimatum for you. You’re not going to like it, but you have to make a decision tonight. Gabriel and I are in power, here. We can vote you on or off this tour, to hell with Castiel wants. If you want out, we’ll make it happen. You say you can’t be perfect within 48 hours, and that’s true. But I’m giving you 48 minutes to decide one way or the other. Are you in, or out? Don’t tell me now. Think about it.”

“I don’t need time. I want to stay.”

“Then you’re going to start showing the highest levels of respect for my brother. I don’t give a shit how you treat me and Gabriel. But I’m done watching you sit around and mistreating Cas, who has willingly put himself on the line for you countless times, and has already sacrificed so much to try to help you. You know that, don’t argue with me. I swear to god, Dean, if you decide to stay, Bobby and I are going to be on you like white on rice to keep you in line. Don’t make the decision lightly, because it’s not going to be easy.”

“Michael-”

“For starters, I’m going to amend the contract, and you’re not going to argue about it. You’re going to have a sponsor, but you get to choose who it is between Cas, me, and Bobby.”

“Seriously?” Dean groaned, feeling like burying his face in his hands. This was so fucking embarrassing.

“Then you’re going to write an apology letter to Cas, and it better be good. I have one final condition for you to agree to in order to stay on this tour.”

Dean was numb. “What?”

“I want you to ask Cas to remove the caning clause from your contract.”

Dean looked down at his bread plate. “Why don’t you ask him? I mean, he was the one who wanted it out. So I don’t think he’ll argue with you about it.”

Michael froze. “Wait. What?”

“I said...Cas wanted it out.”

“Yeah, I heard you. What the hell, Dean?” he asked, and Dean looked up to find a stunned expression on Michael’s face.

“I’m sorry? I...did I hear you wrong?”

“No. You _want_ to keep it in?”

Dean nodded and cleared his throat. “It’s complicated. Please don’t make me explain.”

Michael took another big swig of his wine, and his tone was suddenly conciliatory and gentle. “Dean, here I’ve been thinking all along for _months_ that Cas was being a tyrant and unreasonable by subjecting you to that. But you’re telling me that’s not the case?”

“Correct.” Dean’s eyes instantly went moist at the memory of how he spent a good chunk of rehab coming to terms with the fact that it was the only thing that could ever assuage his guilt, in a way that words never could.

“I don’t understand.”

“Like I said, it’s complicated. And very personal, so…”

Michael shook his head. “Dean, I’m the first to admit I’m bad at figuring people out, and I’m not exactly in tune with the emotions of anyone around me. But I’m not completely oblivious, and you just confirmed something that I’ve always suspected. You are overloaded with guilt, and I have to tell you, looks to me like it’s going to kill you. Did this treatment center not address that?”

Dean almost shut him down, but…then he rallied himself and shrugged.

“They tried. I tried, rather. Didn’t quite succeed. You’re drinking a lot. Did you know excess alcohol inhibits the ability of your motor neurons to communicate with each other? Causes permanent damage, actually, and shortens your lifespan.”

Michael set the wine bottle down with a grimace. “You have more in common with my brother than you know.”

“Yet he still drinks. I don’t.”

“I didn’t mean that. I meant all the guilt you’re carrying around. Him, too. Over Claire, and… anyway, you should have heard the fight we had about Sam today. Gabriel and I were going to veto him but he was right, it wasn’t a company decision. It was personal, and it was his. I don’t think we’ve yelled at each other like that since we were little kids.”

Dean felt his heart lurch painfully. “I’m sorry. I...I regret getting him involved. But can we get back to the contract, please?”

“In a minute. I’m sorry for being so harsh with you when we first got here. But things have to change, Dean. You can’t keep taking out your insecurities and guilt on Castiel. He’s literally the last person who deserves it. I’ve rarely seen him as upset as I did when he left that meeting with you. He was in tears. You know the last time I saw him like that?”

“I can take a guess,” Dean said quickly. “But I don’t want to talk about his family-”

“I’m not talking about them. It was when he made the decision to fire Sam. Because he _knew_ you’d come back angry with him about it and start sabotaging yourself all over again. And he was absolutely right.”

Dean was silent as he contemplated that revelation. 

“Don’t tell me you’re not angry with him, either,” Michael continued. “Every word you’ve said to him, at least the ones that I’m aware of and witnessed firsthand, clearly indicate that you blame him for everything that’s gone wrong in your life since you first auditioned. And that is completely unfair and incorrect, and there are a million other things wrong with it, too, but I just don’t have the adjectives on hand right now.”

Dean took a deep breath and pulled his napkin off his lap as he stood up. “I have to go to the restroom. I’ll be right back.”

\----------------------------------

Michael didn’t think Dean was going to come back. In fact, he would have bet a very large sum of money on it. So when the young violinist finally showed back up, eyes and nose red, and his manner unusually subdued, Michael nearly knocked over his wine in surprise.

“I was about to pay the check and leave.”

“Sorry,” Dean said quietly as he stood there with his hands jammed into his pockets. “I just talked to Cas. I think we’re good now. Um...can we…”

“We can go, yes.”

“No, I wasn’t going to ask that.” Dean sat down just as Michael started to stand. “Can we still have dinner, but just...just not talk about these things? I would rather hear about your travels over the last six weeks. How everything went, I mean except the whole Sam thing. And maybe some funny stories. It would be great if you could tell me about Charlie, too.”

“Are you sure?” Michael was wide-eyed.

“Yeah. And, um...just for the record, I didn’t ask Mr. Novak to remove the caning clause. He’s going to leave it in since I swore I wouldn’t give him any more reasons to use it. I just...it’s complicated.”

Michael nodded. “Yes, you said that. So be it. Alright, I’ll tell you about our wild bus tour through Budapest. I think our driver was on the run from the law.”

“That’s a good start.” Dean glanced at the wine bottle with an unexpected pang of longing, but picked up his water and half-listened to Michael’s story while he wondered how the hell he was ever going to look at Castiel again without wanting to cry.

\--------------------------------

 When they returned to the hotel two hours later, they unexpectedly intercepted Castiel in the lobby, who had just returned from dinner with Ellen. She was in the gift shop while Cas was hanging around nearby, diligently checking his emails on his phone.

Dean started to swerve the moment he saw him and make a beeline for the stairs, but Michael gently grasped his arm and pulled him along.

“He’s already seen us both, Dean. Don’t be childish.”

They walked up to him and nodded as he pocketed his phone.

“How was dinner?”

 “Edible,” Michael joked. “Unlike yours, I’m sure.”

“We went to a steakhouse,” Castiel said flatly, in obvious disappointment. “Ellen’s choice.”

“Good woman. Anyway, Dean’s going to sign the updated contract right now and I’ll make some copies for you both in the morning before rehearsal.”

Castiel nodded, but he did not look at his violinist. “Very good, thank you. Gabriel’s staying a few more days, by the way. He’s looking into us partnering with a local organization that-”

Their voices droned on as Dean’s attention wavered; he was incredibly nervous standing here with Cas only inches away, but since he wasn’t invited to the conversation, there was nothing for it but to wait it out. For many long minutes.

Then Gabriel walked away suddenly, and Dean was left alone with Cas unexpectedly. He moved to follow Gabriel, but then looked up and met the eyes of his boss.

“Um,” he said feebly. “I should, it’s late, I’ll go. Goodnight, sir.”

“One moment.” Castiel turned around to face him straight on. “Thank you for calling me. It really meant a lot.”

“You’re welcome. I mean…oh my god, sorry. I’m so awkward.”

“That makes two of us. But I meant it when I said our communication style changes tomorrow.”

“I know. Until then I’m just going to babble incoherently, I guess? Sorry, I’m still nervous.” 

Castiel’s eyes twinkled for just a moment, but he didn’t react otherwise. “That needs to change tomorrow, too. Goodnight, Dean.”

“Goodnight, sir.”

Dean climbed up the stairs to his room rather than take the elevator, and pulled out his phone to find a dozen texts from Sam.

_ << Don’t leave me hanging, what happened _

_ >> I apologized to Cas for everything I said. You should have seen me blubbering like a little girl. I’ll never live this down _

_ << What did he say  _

_ >> Not much. He started off furious, but then he got all soft. Ended up in chick-flick territory _

_ << Speaking of which, check your email. Sent you something. Goodnight bro _

_ >> Ok. Night _

Dean flopped down on his bed and pulled his laptop out of the drawer. Sam had sent him a very long, heartfelt apology letter. He read it approximately fifty times, then got in the shower and cried himself into exhaustion, then slept like a rock for ten hours straight.

He hadn’t set his alarm was twenty minutes late catching the bus for the rehearsal hall the next morning. Nobody said anything, not even Cas. Dean passed Charlie on the bus without seeing her, then sat in the back row and immediately texted Cas, who was in the front row.

_ >> I’m so sorry. I fell asleep without setting my alarm, totally my fault, will gladly accept whatever consequences you feel appropriate including the cane _

_ << Did you sleep well? _

_ >> Yes _

_ << Good. You look rested. I’m glad. No consequences today for anything. I mean, unless you murder somebody. I think that’s at least a 5% fine _

Dean looked up, startled. Cas was looking back at him through the huge rearview mirror, and he was smiling a little. 

_ >> Thank you. Other than this, it’s gonna be a good day I think _

_ << I think so too.  _

Dean smiled to himself, then he rested his forehead against the glass and idly watched the streets of Tokyo gliding by. He was a bit surprised that he couldn’t _stop_ smiling, even when he tried. 

 


	137. Chapter 137

“Go take a break, Dean.”

Dean looked up from his music stand, where he’d been busily notating a changed section of the Corelli piece with an old chewed-up wooden pencil.

“A what?”

Castiel nodded slightly. “I said go take a break, please. As long as you need, but when you return, I expect you to be more present and focused.”

Dean glanced quickly at Charlie, who was suddenly fascinated with her bow and didn’t meet his eyes. 

“But I’m...I’m fine, sir. I don’t need to. Thanks though.”

“Let’s have a quick chat. Come with me, please.”

Castiel closed the lid to the piano and stood up stiffly; apparently he’d found the low Japanese beds in the hotel just as uncomfortable as everyone else had. Dean silently sighed in annoyance, then set his violin on the stand and followed his boss out into the back hallway. He couldn’t seem to do anything to please Castiel this morning, despite their cheerful little interaction on the bus.

“Mr. Novak, I don’t know why you think I’m distracted? I’m fine.”

Castiel crossed his arms and frowned, but his tone was unusually gentle. “Remember how it’s always been in your contract since day one that you will accept criticism gracefully and without complaint? You’re not playing well, and you know it. It’s like you’re barely trying.”

“But I...I actually didn’t...I thought I was doing okay,” Dean replied in genuine surprise and dismay at Castiel’s assessment of the rehearsal so far. “Especially after seven weeks out of practice.”

“Okay is not good enough, but it’s not just that. You haven’t looked at Charlie since I first introduced you. I’m afraid the first impression you’ve made on her is very poor, and you need to fix it as soon as possible.”

_You are allowed to admit to an error without apologizing._

Dean’s cheeks colored slightly. “I guess you’re right.”

“She’s not the cause of any of your problems.”

“I know that, of course, sir. But seeing someone else behind the cello is rough. I miss my brother way more than I thought I would.”

“Then tell her that.”

“It’ll hurt her feelings,” Dean mumbled.

“Look at me, please, not at the floor. Thank you. You don’t even know her. I do, and I can assure you that ignoring her is far worse than telling her the truth.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean murmured. “I’m sorry.”

“I thought we agreed you weren’t going to apologize for every little thing anymore?”

“Well then I’m sorry for apologizing,” Dean snapped, then recoiled as he saw Castiel’s stern expression. 

“You’re blowing this out of proportion. Is something else bothering you, perhaps?”

Dean hesitated.  “Yeah, um...I know you don’t want to talk about it, since Michael told me about the fight you guys had, but did you actually do that thing for Sam?”

Castiel looked perturbed. “Yes, it’s done. What did Michael tell you, exactly?”

“Crap. I shouldn’t have mentioned that. Can you just pretend I never said it?”

“No.”

Dean rolled his eyes before he could stop himself. _I’m such a fucking idiot._

Castiel uncrossed his arms. “Michael won’t get in trouble. I just want to make sure you understand the reason they were fighting with me. It wasn’t because they didn’t want to help Sam. Dean, _look at me_ while I’m talking to you. Thank you. They were just trying to protect me. They’re my brothers, after all, you should know how that goes.”

“I do,” Dean said idly as his mind partially processed the revised terms of his contract, especially regarding the new ‘open communication’ clause. “Speaking of which, I was wondering something...and you have to be honest or else you’ll violate our new agreement.”

“I’ve always been honest with you. What’s the question?”

Dean hesitated for a few moments. “Do you regret agreeing to help Sam?”

“Hopefully he’ll never put me in the position to regret it. But considering his most recent behavior, I think it likely he will at some point.”

“That didn’t really answer anything,” Dean said politely. “You always give me a hard time when I dodge questions like that. _Evasion is dishonesty_ , remember?”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Point taken. Yes, I regret agreeing to help him.”

Dean paled instantly. “I’m so sorry. I...I...crap. Why did you do it, then?”

“Dean, we’re going to break you of this habit of apologizing for everything, no matter how long it takes. As for why I did it, that’s really none of your business. Is there anything else before we part that you need to get off your chest? By the way, Sam’s issues have nothing to do with you. No matter what he does, you’re safe here and I’m not going to throw you off the tour again. So try to relax.”

_You are allowed to protect yourself against all threats, small and large._

Dean gulped down the lump in his throat. “Yeah, about that. Mr. Novak, I just...I really need to tell you something. And you’re not going to like it. But, um...I’m not really safe.”

“ _What_?”

Dean braced himself. “Yesterday your brother told me that he and Gabriel hold the power, and they’re the ones who decide whether or not I get to stay on this tour, not you. I’m not trying to throw them under the bus or anything, but it was wrong, and it scared me because I actually _want_ to be here now. So yeah, I’m a little distracted today.”

Castiel’s face had darkened frightfully as Dean spoke, and it took him a while to form his reply. “You realize that I can’t just ignore this. When I take this up with them, they’re going to know you told me that.”

“I don’t want you to ignore it,” Dean replied firmly. “You demanded honesty, so you’re getting it.”

Castiel nodded. “Got it. Okay, _now_ Michael’s in trouble. Go talk to Charlie for a bit. I have to take care of this.”

“Now?” Dean parroted in astonishment as both his arms lit up with goosebumps.

“Now.”

\----------------------

Castiel didn’t return to the stage for 45 minutes, but when he did, he was thrilled to hear Dean and Charlie laughing together. _Dean. Laughing._ Just a chuckle, but under the circumstances it was nearly as good as a full-on belly laugh.

They clammed up instantly when Cas approached, though, and solemnly picked their instruments back up. Castiel ignored Dean’s anxious glances at him and sat down.

“Charlie? Where did we leave off?”

“Measure 74, sir.”

“Of what piece?” Castiel snapped.

“The Corelli,” she answered calmly.

“Let’s start at measure 60,” Cas ordered, and he abruptly began the piece without counting it off for his musicians.

“You both came in late,” he said irritably. “Try it again.”

_You are allowed to politely call out an injustice._

“Sir,” said Dean (politely), “with respect, you didn’t count us off.”

“Don’t have to. Watch me and pay attention.”

“But you didn’t give us any warning, either.”

Castiel slammed his hand down on the top of the piano, making both his musicians jump. “Leave the stage, Dean. I’m tired of your arguing.”

Dean’s jaw dropped in his shock, but to make any reply at all would be interpreted as further arguing. He hadn’t been dismissed from rehearsal so ignominously since his very first weeks on the job, and it stung bitterly to be reminded of those old memories again. He felt Charlie’s wide eyes on him as he leaned over and put the violin its case and quickly snapped it shut while scrambling his brain to pick one of the “disarming tactics” he had learned to help prevent a fight. 

_Divert the threat by asking a neutral question._

“Yes, sir. Is there a specific time you would like me to come back?”

Castiel rubbed his temples vigorously with the palms of his hands before he answered. “Sit back down. Measure 60, and I’ll count us off this time.”

Dean hadn’t stood up yet, so Cas must have been really rattled. “Yes, sir.”

“Tell me when you’re ready.”

Dean brought his instrument back out, quickly re-tuned his e-string, and tucked the violin under his chin while glancing at Charlie, who nodded and put her bow into position.

“We’re ready, sir.”

“Thank you. _Three and four and_ …”

\--------------------------

>> _Mr. Novak, are you alright? Please answer_

No answer, no read receipt for nearly five minutes. Dean put his phone back in his pocket as Charlie exited the bathroom and returned to their tiny little table at the bar. 

“Ginger ale, huh?” She teased. “I better get you a designated driver.”

Dean smirked back at her, although he felt no humor, nothing but worry for their boss. Cas had improved his temper quickly after his initial outburst, but ended rehearsal two hours early, and no one had heard anything from him in the eight hours since.

“I don’t know how much you know about my absence, but I was in treatment for alcoholism,” Dean blurted.

Charlie’s face fell, and she blushed slightly. “I’m sorry. Nobody talks around here. For all I knew, you were in cooking school in Mongolia.”

“Nah. Those are my post-tour plans. Shhhh.” He dug into the bowl of walnuts and diverted his eyes from her embarrassed expression. “I’m so sorry about the way I was behaving at rehearsal this morning.”

“I know , you’ve said that like five times. Can we just get past it? I need to know if you have a girlfriend, for real.”

Now it was Dean’s turn to blush. “No, I…I’m single and I’d like it to stay that way until I work through some issues, so. Yeah.”

Charlie grinned widely “Wise. I’m not hitting on you, Dean. I don’t think _my_ girlfriend would appreciate that very much.”

She smiled beatifically, and Dean felt like diving under the table suddenly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume.” He laughed a little, this time with genuine humor. “I’m an idiot. Sorry. You can hang that over my head for a while, I deserve it. No girlfriend. I had a fiancee. She left me after I had her kid in my car when I got arrested for my first DUI. Can’t say I blame her. Wait. Holy shit. Why am I telling you this?”

Charlie was staring at him. “How long ago was that?”

“Three years ago.” Dean picked up his ginger ale and downed it quickly. “My dad drove drunk with me and Sam, too. Apple, tree, etc. Fuck, I’m sorry. _Jesus_. Did somebody put some truth serum in my drink, or what?”

“Not used to being this open, I gather?”

“No. Absolutely not. I never even told Sam that’s why we broke up. Or my dad. You’re the first.”

Charlie picked up her bloody mary and mock-toasted her fellow musician. “A dubious honor, to be sure. Cheers.”

Dean saluted her back with his empty glass and sat there miserably picking at the laquer on the table.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to burden you with that. I’m a dumbass.”

“No worries. I’m not judging. Do you play video games?”

Dean had to wrap his brain around the change of topic before he could answer. “No. Well, yeah. I used to play Assassin’s Creed.”

“Favorite title?”

“Probably Unity.”

Charlie pretended to choke on her drink. “Ew. Now _that’s_ something you should have kept to yourself. Ever play Syndicate?”

“Not yet,” Dean admitted. “I do have it but never got around to trying it out once I couldn’t beat Unity.”

“Where’d you get stuck?”

“Never found Germain. Pretty sure I threw my controller off the balcony at one point.”

Charlie grinned. “Ah yes. The infamous Sequence 10. I’ll tell you how to beat it when you get home. Then you can move on to Syndicate and start healing from the PTSD.”

 _Home. What home?_ Dean nodded and smiled stiffly. That had stung, yes, but he felt his heart lighten up all the same. “Alright, I’m game. No pun intended. Let’s hear it.”

\------------

“So...I know we’ve only known each other less than a day, but for my sake can you give me the skinny on what’s up with you and Castiel? I’m getting super strong passive-aggressive love-hate vibes from you two.”

Dean blanched a little as he downed the last of his third ginger ale. “Oh man. It’s almost midnight. We’re gonna be here until noon if I get started on that topic. It’s not just him. His brothers, and his manager, too. We’re all like oil and water. But I idolize Cas, all the same.”

“And vice versa.”

“I doubt that,” Dean responded with a grimace. “Not dodging your question, but I’m gonna pay the check and head to bed. This really is a story for another time. And not sure one I want to tell, considering I’m not exactly proud of my part in it.”

Charlie looked disappointed, but she nodded. “Got it. You _should_ be proud, though. I mean, when I found out I was going to get the opportunity to play with you, I was more excited than playing with Cas. Not even joking.”

Dean stared at her in stunned incomprehension. “What? Why?”

“Duh. You’re _Dean Winchester_!”

“I am? Why the hell didn’t anyone tell me? Hot damn.”

Charlie grinned again. It was infectious, Dean admitted to himself grudgingly.

“Whatever you’ve read,” he said quickly, with a dismissive wave of his hand, “it’s misleading. The bad stuff is completely accurate and the good stuff is completely wrong. Find yourself another idol. I’m a mess.”

“ _You’re_ a mess? Have you seen Castiel? That man is a walking disaster. But you idolize him anyway, so…”

“A disaster?” 

“Hell yes! I mean, he’s a legend, and he’s brilliant. Musically, anyway. But I doubt he can even tie his own shoes.”

“Charlie!” Dean hissed, scandalized beyond belief as he looked around the bar to make sure no one had overheard. “You can’t talk about him like that! Oh my god.”

“I’m just saying. He’s not perfect, you’re not perfect, I’m not perfect. What a messy little trio we are. By the way, what the hell is Chuck’s problem?”

“He needs to get laid, that’s what. Let’s go, seriously. You’re drunk.”

“Just a little buzzed. Feels nice.”

“But your brain cells are dying at a rate of...never mind.” He pulled out his credit card and handed it to a passing server. “I can’t miss my curfew.”

“You have a-”

“Yes, I have a curfew because apparently I can’t be trusted to act like an adult.” He signed the bill that was handed to him, then leapt up and grabbed her coat from the back of her chair. “Let’s go.”

“You’re so cute. You need to get laid, too. Suddenly wishing I was straight so we could-”

“ _Come on_ , Charlie,” Dean said urgently as he held out the coat so she could slip her arms into it.

\-----------------------

“Hey Bobby,” Dean said as he quickly slipped past his sponsor in the hotel lobby. He didn’t wait for a response; he was holding tightly onto Charlie’s arm to keep her steady. 11:59pm, one minute left. Damned elevators were so slow.

“Dean, thanks. It was so nice to meet you.”

Dean cringed a little, recalling his abundant oversharing of some very gritty and deeply disturbing personal details. Hopefully, maybe, Charlie wouldn’t remember most of it in the morning. She wasn’t that drunk, though, and he blushed at the thought of facing her again with all the knowledge she now had in her head.

He dropped her off at her room, walked into his own room at 12:03am, and quickly pulled his phone from his pocket. There were four new texts from Castiel, several hours old. Dean had forgotten all about him while he’d been enjoying the evening with Charlie.

_ <<  Need to talk to you when you return to the hotel _

_ <<  What time are you coming back _

_ <<  Where are you _

_ <<  Respond as soon as you get this _

Dean was suddenly sweating, and he wiped his forehead twice before answering.

      >> _I’m here now. So sorry, just saw your messages. Is everything okay?_

<< _Were you late coming back to the hotel?_

    >> _I returned to the hotel at 11:59. Got into my room at 12:03_

_ << Policy says in your room by midnight so you will have to be fined. _

_ >> I know. Besides that is everything ok? _

<< _Michael is on his way home. I didn’t fire him, but he will no longer have any duties for this tour.  
_

Dean didn’t know how to respond, and his skin prickled uncomfortably again.

<< _I also took away the power for him and Gabriel to veto me on anything to do with you.  
_

_ >> Understood _

What else could possibly be said? Dean wondered idly. Not like it was his fault.

<< _Never mind, I just got a text from Bobby that he kept you in the lobby past curfew and it’s not your fault. You need to tell me these things Dean. Don’t just take the fall._

Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise, then struggled to make a reply that didn’t make him feel completely hypocritical.

    >> _I should have returned sooner all the same. It’s my fault, not his. I’m about to head to bed, unless there’s anything else?_

<< _Yes. Sam declined the job offer with L.A. Philharmonic. I don’t know why, do you?_

Dean nearly dropped his phone. 

    >> _No! No idea, he hasn’t texted me. I’ll call him._

_ << Thank you. _

\-------------------------------

“What the actual fuck, Sam?”

“Calm down.”

“You’re an idiot!”

“No I’m not. Shut up and let me talk.”

Dean breathed heavily and forced himself to wait.

“First of all, I have another job. It’s done, I’m set. So don’t freak out.”

“Of course I’m freaking out!” Dean blurted. “What are you up to _now_? And why didn’t you tell me about this so I didn’t get so caught off guard when Cas told me?

“I didn’t want to jinx myself. So get this. I got a call from the Chicago Symphony Orchestra a while back, so I flew over to audition two days ago. I’m still here now. They offered me the job today as second chair. _And_ they don’t drug test. So…”

Dean’s heart fell into his lap. “You’re moving to Chicago?”

“Yeah. Guess so. It’s all happened so fast, my head is spinning.”

“Shit. Wow. Holy shit, second chair. That’s amazing, Sam. Congrats.”

“Thanks. Obviously way better than last chair, but the best part is Castiel has no claim on me now, so I can breathe and just do my thing without him interfering every five seconds.”

Dean felt his eyes stinging a little. “Yeah, but...dude, he wasn’t looking for a hold over you. He was just trying to help.”

“His brand of _helping_ doesn’t agree with me. It’s more like extortion.”

Dean nodded and swallowed thickly. “Speaking of which...that letter you sent me-”

“Genuine. I would have done it regardless. Nothing to do with Castiel’s demand, other than he gave me the idea for it. You never answered me, by the way.”

“Sorry. I didn’t know what to say. But when I do, I’ll reply.”

_Silence._

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“I appreciated the apologies, and it does help. But dude...I doubt I’ll ever be fixed. Dad really did a number on me.”

“Me too. That’s also part of the reason I’m excited to move away from L.A. Put all the ghosts behind me that I see on every corner. By the way, if you want to move here, too…it’s an awesome city.”

Dean swallowed hard. “I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do with myself when this tour is over. I’ll probably go back to Los Angeles. If you can’t sell your house, maybe I can rent it from you?”

“We’ll see. You’ve still got a few months, don’t rush into it.”

“Okay. By the way, you were right. Charlie’s awesome.”

“Isn’t she though?”

Dean nodded to himself and squirmed further down in his bed. “Look, I, umm...I need to tell you something, Sam. I don’t know why, I just feel compelled. Sort of confession time, I guess.”

“Okay.” Sam sounded nervous all of a sudden. “I’m listening.”

“It’s about Lisa. Why we broke up.”

“Mmmmhmm.”

“Um. It’s just that Ben was in the car with me when I got arrested for my first DUI. She...she rightfully snapped over that, and when I got home a few days later, all her stuff was gone. Never spoke to her again after she drove away.”

_Silence._

“Sam?”

“Shit, Dean. You told us she cheated on you.”

“It gets worse. I drank every day for two years afterwards while I was telling you and dad I was sober.”

 _Pause._ “We knew that, eventually. You kept it well-hidden for a long time.”

“Anyway, while I was in rehab I wrote her a letter and mailed it on my last day. Didn’t give her any return address so she can’t reply, and I didn’t use my name so she can’t embarrass me with it, but-”

“Hang on.”

“Um. Okay.”

There was a pause, and then Dean heard a ding on his phone. An incoming text, from...Sam?

“Why are you texting me?”

“I forwarded you something. It’s a voicemail from Lisa. I literally just got it today and was wondering how the hell this came about. But now I know. Listen to it and call me back.”

He hung up, and Dean nervously opened the file on his phone. It took him almost two minutes to get the courage to hit the play button.

_Hey Sam. Blast from the past, Lisa here. This message is for your brother. Would you please forward it to him? I have his number still, but I don’t want to call him. Anyway, here goes. Dean, thank you so much for contacting me. It took me three days to figure out how to reply, and I’m still not sure this is the right way. But here goes. Ben is doing great and doesn’t remember anything about the incident. I do, and I’ll never quite get over it, but I do forgive you, and I believe you are truly trying to make it right. Life is too short to carry hatred around in your heart, so I let it go a long time ago. I heard your father died. I hope you can take my advice and let your hatred of him go, too. It’s very liberating and opens up all kinds of new doors to go through. Anyway, speaking of which, I was married six months ago and we moved to Michigan. I wish you all the best on your tour, and I’m rooting for you by reading all the reviews and following your progress on Instagram. You don’t seem happy in the photos, hope that changes soon. When the tour is over, do yourself a favor and take even more time to heal. You’re going to need it, we all do. Life is crazy and no one is immune from times of depression and anxiety. You’re going to be okay. Take care, and please respect my wishes not to be contacted again. That doesn’t mean I don’t care. I do and always will. Bye, Dean. Thanks, Sam._

Dean calmly set his phone down and got up to go to the minibar, where he pulled out a bottle of beer and popped off the top before taking a small sip. Then he walked it into the bathroom, poured it down the toilet, and threw it hard into the bathtub. Shards of brown glass and drops of pale liquid flew everywhere, and his boots crunched over the debris as he walked back out to the bedroom and stared out the window at the million lights of Tokyo. He couldn’t figure why he’d just done what he did. He wasn’t mad. He wasn’t...he wasn’t _anything_ . He felt _nothing_. His phone buzzed several minutes later. A text from Cas, asking if he’d found anything out.

>>  _Yeah. Sam is moving to Chicago. You never have to worry about him again._

_ <<  Are you okay with that? _

Dean wasn’t okay with it, yet. He wasn’t sure he ever would be. Maybe he would take up Sam’s offer to move to Chicago with him. It would be good to have new scenery. He looked at his minibar again, imagining Lisa in the wedding dress that was supposed to be worn for him. Not some random guy in Michigan. _Him_. The longing to get totally wasted rose up violently in his heart, and he quickly texted Castiel back.

>> _I need to talk to someone. Like right now_

_ <<  I can send Ellen down as soon as she finishes her shower. Maybe 10 minutes. Will you be ok until then? _

_ >> I don’t know _

_ << Bobby is asleep. Do you want me to come down? _

_ >> I just need the hotel staff to come remove this fucking minibar IMMEDIATELY _

_ << Okay I’m calling them now. Hang tight. _

Dean didn’t wait; he stalked over to the little appliance and violently yanked the cord from the wall, then dragged it out into the hallway and dumped it over on its side. The sound of clinking glass made him cringe, along with the thought that he would be obliged to pay for the damaged contents inside. They were hellishly expensive.

But anyway, it was done. He was safe. For now.

He walked back into his room, calmly changed into something more comfortable, then sat down on the bed and sipped from a bottle of water while he waited for Ellen to arrive.


	138. Chapter 138

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean FINALLY gains some sense of self-worth. HOOOOOORAY

Ellen wasn’t the first to arrive, though, much to Dean’s surprise. He’d left the hotel room door open for her, propped up with the swinging lock, and now there was a tentative knock and a flash of red hair visible through the opening.

“Dean?”

“Charlie?”

“What’s going on? You okay?”

Dean set his water bottle down and swung his legs out from underneath him. “I’m fine. Sorry if I disturbed you.”

She just stood there, saying nothing, so Dean got up and trudged over to the door and peeked out. He followed her glance to the discarded refrigerator, which was now leaking dark brown liquid onto the hotel’s pristine cream-colored hallway carpets.

“Oh _shit_.” 

He darted out and pulled the appliance into an upright position; the grating, clattering noise of all the broken glass shifting around making them both cringe hard in the silent hallway. Dean glanced at her again and was uncomfortably stunned to find that she appeared to be a little scared.

“Charlie, I’m so sorry. Did I wake you up with all this commotion?” he asked unnecessarily, considering she was still wearing the dress she had on at dinner and clearly hadn’t been in bed. She didn’t answer as she got to her feet, looked back at her hotel room door, and took a step towards it. Dean’s heart broke a little as he forced himself not to follow her, but he didn’t have much time to think about it because now another door across the hallway popped open and the head of a very bleary-eyed Bobby Singer peered out curiously.

“What the hell are you doing, boy?” he asked gruffly.

Dean cleared his throat roughly and felt his face flush bright red. “Uh...I…”

“You drunk?”

“No! No. Definitely not. Don’t call me _boy_ , I don’t like it.”

Bobby opened the door a little wider, and his expression softened. “Sorry. I’m half asleep. Thought someone was breaking in to murder me with all that racket. You ok?”

Dean looked over at Charlie helplessly, then back to Bobby as a lump formed in his throat. “What do _you_ think? I mean…fuck, I’m sorry, guys. The hotel staff should be up here in a minute.”

Everyone turned their heads as the stairway door opened with a loud metallic groan as Castiel appeared, stopping to eye the fridge for a few seconds.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said to the group as they all looked at him. “I, um...had a moment.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Castiel replied icily.

“Guess I should call housekeeping, too,” Dean added lamely, still blushing fiercely.

“Already did, they’re on the way.” He was tired, and big circles under his eyes stood out nearly black even in the bright hallway. As if they had been cued, the elevator doors opened and two men in hotel uniforms exited and stepped towards the refrigerator. Dean recoiled a little as he saw their expressions, and tried to apologize before realizing they spoke no English. He was flabbergasted as Bobby took over and addressed them in absolutely perfect (as far as Dean could tell) Japanese. The men quickly hauled the refrigerator away on a small dolly, and one of them was talking low into his radio as they departed.

“He’s calling someone to clean the carpet,” Bobby finally said as they disappeared.

“You speak Japanese?” Dean exclaimed. “How did I not know this?”

“What did you tell them?” Castiel queried Bobby irritably, obviously not happy with the damage, or with Dean in general for that matter.

“Apologized for the trouble and said we’d pay for the damage. And then I told them not to replace it until after we leave on Monday.”

Everyone looked at Dean again, who shrank back a little in his mortification and nearly backed up into the wall. “I...you’ll be happy to know that I...never mind.”

He tensed up as Castiel stared him down. “I want to talk to you. Everyone back to bed.”

Just like that - as if Cas had snapped his fingers to make everyone vanish in smoke - Dean was alone with his boss in the hallway.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly as he tried not to look down at the big brown stain on the carpet.

“Your room, please. Now.”

They went inside, and Dean’s hands were shaking as he closed the door and zipped up his sweatshirt.

“Mr. Novak, I’m really sorry,” he repeated as he watched Castiel visibly struggle with his temper.

“Ellen’s coming down as soon as she dries her hair. But I just want to make something clear to you first.”

Dean braced himself and clutched his hands together in his “kangaroo pocket.”

“Sir, before you say anything, I haven’t had anything to drink. You should know that. I won this battle, although-”

“ _Although,_  yes. You won it by acting like a hooligan,” Castiel fired back. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad for you and your newfound willpower, but this can’t ever happen again. You can _never_ cause any damage to another piece of property that isn’t yours while you’re on tour with me. Are we absolutely crystal clear on that point?”

Dean nodded as he felt his heart stop a little. “No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. I won’t.”

“Are you sure? Because I thought we had already gone over this when you and Sam broke a lamp. Needless to say, you’ll be paying the bill for this as well. What is that all over the bathroom floor?”

“Um. It’s a bottle of beer, that I…it...fell and broke.”

“Right. You’re _that_ upset about Sam moving to Chicago?”

Dean took a deep breath as he recalled the real reason he had almost fallen off the wagon after six weeks. _Lisa_ , damn everything to hell. “It’s...sir, with all due respect, now isn’t the time for that conversation. Not when you’re angry at me.”

“Do you expect me _not_ to be angry with you? It’s literally in your contract that you won’t do crap like this.”

“I know, I’ll pay for it.”

“That’s not the point, Dean!”

Castiel backed up a step, his chest heaving from the exertion of trying to stay calm. Dean watched with wide eyes as the man looked around the room, seconds away from an all-out explosion. There was a very long silence as the two looked at each other once more, and Dean fought harder to keep himself from panicking.

“Alright,” Castiel said finally, somewhat calmer suddenly. “I’m going to cane you in the morning for this. Before we leave for the high school, and no, Ellen won’t be able to talk me out of it. I get that you’re struggling, Dean, and I’ve done everything I can to support you and will continue to do so. But there’s absolutely no excuse for this type of thuggish behavior, and I will never support it, no matter what.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean rasped contritely, his eyes dropping to the floor. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

“And if it continues - if it happens even _once_ more - we’re going to have an incredibly serious problem on our hands. Look at me when I’m talking to you, please.”

Dean couldn’t do it. He just stared down at the little blue swirling stars on the carpet, wringing his hands miserably. 

“Dean?”

“Hmm?”

“You selected Bobby as your sponsor. Have you spoken to him even once since then?”

“No,” Dean mumbled. “It’s only been a day.”

“Okay. Start tomorrow you chat with him every single day. Ellen’s here.”

Dean looked up; he hadn’t heard the knock on the door in his misery. “I don’t want to talk to her anymore,” he said sullenly. “I’m fine. I even forgot why I freaked out in the first place.”

The sound of a vacuum starting up in the hallway broke the silence, and Castiel turned back towards the door to open it. 

“He says he’s fine and doesn’t want to talk,” Castiel shouted over the noise. 

Dean made eye contact with Ellen over Castiel’s arm, and she raised an eyebrow.

“You sure, kiddo? I’m wide awake and-”

“It’s 12:30am,” Dean said over the din. “I’m tired. Maybe tomorrow?”

He walked over as Cas stepped into the hallway and turned around. 

“Dean-”

“Goodnight.” Dean shut the door in his face, turned all the locks, then went back into the bathroom and numbly started picking up all the broken glass out of the tub.

\-----------------------------

“And then I pretty much slammed the door in his face. So. Yeah.”

“So...is he gonna cane you?”

Dean blushed fiercely; he would never get used to everyone knowing about such a practice. “Yep. In about five minutes.”

Bobby picked up the papers he’d been studying and put them all back into a neat stack.

“You don’t seem very upset about it,” he observed neutrally.

“Should I be?” Dean slung his violin higher over his shoulder, wincing at the sudden lightning bolt of pain to his wrist, which started acting up after he spent four hours nonstop in the wee hours of the morning quietly but feverishly practicing his music. 

“Yeah. Okay, so…why did you come by?”

“Castiel said I had to talk to you every day from now on since you’re my sponsor. So there, we’ve talked, I’ll get out of your hair now.”

“ _You’ve_ talked. Haven’t given me a chance to say a damned thing in the whole ninety seconds you’ve been here.”

Dean shrugged. “Well, whatever, we have a bus to catch in half an hour. I can’t exactly give you the _War and Peace_ version. I gotta go upstairs and pay the piper before we leave.”

“Wait. Did you sleep last night?”

“Like a rock.”

“Uh-huh. So who broke into your room and played your violin all night? Don’t lie to me, kiddo.”

Dean shrugged again. “Maybe you shouldn’t ask me questions you already know the answer to, then. See you later, Bobby.”

\-----------------------------------------

Dean entered the now-familiar meeting room with a stifled sigh of reluctance, knowing Castiel would of course already be there early. And yes, he was there, reviewing a document at the little conference table. The cane was resting on the chair nearby, but Dean diverted his glance and didn’t look at directly as he dropped all his belongings on the floor in a heap, except for his violin, which was gently set down a few feet away.

“Give me a few minutes, please.”

Dean stopped in his tracks. “Okay, um. Want me to leave?”

“I’m writing an email that needs to go out in the next few minutes. I wouldn’t keep you waiting otherwise.”

“So...do I stay, or...?” Dean queried, his eyebrows raised in confusion.

“Shhhh.”

“Sorry.”

Dean elected stay where he was, near the door at a safe distance away. He felt slightly sick all of a sudden, and the urge to text Sam was overwhelming. He pulled out his phone discreetly and tapped out a quick message.

_ >> You okay Sammy? Haven’t heard from you in a whole day _

_ << No. I’m so fucked. Chicago Symphony revoked their offer _

_ >> WHAT?? WHY _

_ << Gonna call you _

_ >> NO not a good time _

_ << You with Cas? _

_ >> Yeah _

_ << Tell him I said to go fuck himself for sabotaging me _

“Dean?

“What?” Dean’s head jerked up, and he dropped his phone back into his pocket. “I mean, yes, sir?”

“What are you doing? I’ve told you a hundred times no phones while meeting with me.”

Dean took a deep breath. “Sorry. Sam said...he just…he’s not moving to Chicago, I guess?”

“I know.” Castiel stood up and stretched like a cat and yawned; Dean doubted the man had slept at all based on the bags under his eyes.

“Mr. Novak, he...he seems to think you’re at fault. Which I know isn’t the case, of course, since he always jumps to conclusions.”

“Not always.”

Dean’s head spun a little at that implication. “I don’t...I don’t understand. What happened?”

Castiel looked at him with one eyebrow raised. “The artistic director asked me to write a letter of recommendation for Sam. I declined. That’s the last thing I’m going to say about it.”

“But…” Dean floundered. “Sir...wait…”

“ _What_ did I just say?”

“No, you can’t do this,” Dean protested. “You can’t shut me out like that. Our agreement is open communication at all times.”

“In matters that pertain to this tour and your well-being _only._  We’re not going to discuss Sam, and that’s final.”

“No it’s not. Sam’s well-being is _my_ well-being, so we’re going to talk about it. Or am I going to have to accept that maybe you can’t keep your word?”

Dean actually gasped at himself for saying that, but he was completely fired up at Castiel’s attitude all of a sudden and was having none of it.

Castiel irritably snapped his laptop shut and picked up his briefcase to shove it in roughly. “Fine. Let’s talk. Hard truth: your brother is not my problem. He’s not yours, either. He certainly doesn’t deserve second chair for the Chicago Symphony.”

“Are you serious? He made a mistake, _one_ mistake, so now he’s condemned to-”

“One mistake? You’re joking. He was _doing drugs_!”

“Marijuana!” Dean protested angrily. “Not heroin, for fuck’s sake. I mean….sorry. No, I’m not sorry. You’re a dick, you know that? Always have been. You have, like, these moments where you’re suddenly all angelic and stuff, and you act like you’re the best person in the world, but deep down, you’re a passive-aggressive certifiable asshole. For real.”

Castiel was watching Dean placidly, not reacting at all, which only made Dean more angry.

“And now,” Dean sputtered as he walked up to the wall and put his hands on it, “you’re going to cane me. I get it, I consent. Whatever. I’ve had my say. Just get it the fuck over with so I can go.”

“Turn around,” Castiel said quietly.

“No.”

“Dean. I _did_ help your brother. I went against my ethics and my morals when I helped him get that job with the Los Angeles Philharmonic. I did that for _you,_ not for him. And you remember what Sam did? He turned it down, because he didn’t want to be beholden to me.”

“That’s not why!”

“It absolutely is. He actually sent me an email telling me exactly that. So guess what? When the Chicago Symphony came calling, asking me to endorse him again, I said no. Those were his wishes. I did _exactly_ what he wanted. You’re telling me that now he blames me for losing the job?”

Dean turned around, feeling significantly calmer all of a sudden. “Yeah. He...he said…”

“What did he say?”

Dean pulled out his phone, found the text thread, and quietly read it out loud. “He said to tell you to go fuck yourself for sabotaging him.”

“Sabotaging him,” Castiel said flatly. “After turning down the offer I made happen in Los Angeles. Your brother is the ‘certifiable asshole’ here for being such a hypocrite, Dean. Not me. You want someone to blame, you can point the finger squarely at Sam.”

Castiel walked back to his computer and re-opened it, then angrily jabbed at the keyboard for a good ten seconds or so before closing the lid again. 

“Just sent Sam’s rant to your email. You can read it for yourself and judge who’s really at fault here.”

Dean swallowed down his anxiety and tapped on the email icon.

The message was exactly as Castiel said.

_I don’t need or want your help. Ever._

_I refuse to be beholden to you or your brothers or even to Dean._

_When I get my next job, it will be because of my merit, not yours._

_Stay out of my life._

Dean read the email at least ten times, until the text began blurring through his tears.

“Holy shit,” he murmured as he dropped the phone back into his pocket. “Man, I’m...Cas...Mr. Novak...I’m so fucking sorry. You have no idea what a douchebag I feel like right now.”

“Bring me the cane, Dean.”

Dean hurried over to the chair and picked it up. “Yes, sir, I...I’m ready.”

“Hands on the wall. I want you to know I’m not doing this in anger. You have it coming from your actions last night. Three. Do you consent?”

“Yes, sir. What about just now? All the crap I just said?”

“I think three is appropriate. Do you?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean replied readily.

“Good. Six total, then. Get ready.”

Dean instantly complied, no questions asked. He hissed as the first two stripes fell, but determined not to make a sound. It was easier not to writhe when he buried his head in his forearms, and clasped his hands around the back of his head.

When the third one fell, though, Dean jumped away. Something had just changed in him, he didn’t know what, but his heart couldn’t take it anymore.

“Stop,” he gasped painfully.

“Let me know when you’re ready to continue,” Castiel said placidly.

“No. I’m not doing this.”

“You revoke your consent?”

Dean nodded and wiped his wet eyes. He wasn’t sure he had ever been this angry in his life. “Yeah. Forever. Eternally revoked. We’re not doing this ever again. I don’t deserve this shit, I don’t care what I do. Even if I murder somebody, I’m not doing this. It's wrong. Throw that fucking thing in the trash.”

“But you said that you need it to help keep you balanced. That you-”

“I don’t _care_ what I said! That was the old Dean. New Dean is not putting up with this caning shit anymore. I don’t deserve it. I've had such a hard-”

He broke off as he noticed Castiel’s odd little grin. Just there for a fraction of a second, but unmistakable.

“What’s funny?” Dean demanded hotly.

“Nothing,” Castiel said quickly. 

“You looked like you were going to laugh. What the fuck?”

“No. You’re taking it the wrong way. Take the cane.”

“What?”

“Take it.” Castiel handed it to him. “Gigantic trash bin right over there. Or you can keep it as a souvenir, I don’t care.”

Dean took it. “Wait. Stop. You’re...you’re _okay_ with this?”

Castiel didn’t answer, he just turned and calmly packed away his computer and put on his jacket.

“But...Cas…” Dean stuttered. “All the shit I just said to you. You’re...you’re gonna let it go?”

“Yep. Then I’m going to get on the bus. We have a school clinic in two hours.”

“So...wait. I don’t understand you’re just _letting_ me violate my contract by refusing to be caned? Why?”

Castiel hefted his computer bag onto his shoulder. “You’ll understand if you think about it long enough. And Dean? Whatever’s really bothering you right now, you’ve got to work it out before it destroys our relationship for good. Because I know this is not about me, and it’s definitely not about Sam. Talk to Ellen tonight. Promise me you will.”

"Yeah. I'm so sorry for everything I said. I didn't mean it, I'm just mad, and I'm worried about Sam. I'm sorry I blamed you. He's such an idiot."

"It's okay, Dean. Yes, he's an idiot. But you love him, and it’s in your job description as a brother to defend him no matter what he does, idiotic or not. So I forgive you, unconditionally. Okay?"

Dean nodded, a pair of tears falling silently down his face. Castiel walked out to the hallway and quickly pulled out his phone.

 _ >> Ellen. Dean just had a HUGE breakthrough. I’m so proud of him. _

_ << You tell him that? _

_ >> No. He wouldn’t believe me anyway _

_ << Good job hon. What’d you do? _

_ >> I didn't mean to do anything. It just happened unexpectedly. I’ll catch you up when I see you _


	139. Chapter 139

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost to the end. Second to last chapter, and it's a long one. Thank you all so much for joining me on this journey xoxo

Dean wasn’t sure what to think when he sat down on the stage for their first of four concerts in Tokyo. The absence of Castiel’s little counter on the piano threw him off far more than he expected, and his mind fixated on the subject well into intermission. He wasn’t at all surprised when Castiel pulled him aside the moment the curtains closed.

“Your head is not in the game,” Cas said sharply after Charlie had walked away. 

Dean nodded reluctantly and was about to bravely admit he was experiencing stage fright for the first time in his life, but Cas swiftly cut him off the second he opened his mouth.

“ _Yes_ , I know it’s been seven weeks, don’t tell me that again. It’s no excuse considering you were playing much better at the high school today than you are now, and to be honest I’m not sure whether to be confused or annoyed. But I’m plenty of both.”

Dean had coiled into himself self-consciously during this lecture; the black-clad stagehands working diligently on the second act setup were carefully pretending not to be pleased about their star player getting his latest comeuppance only a few feet away. Not that they wanted him to suffer, but Dean’s troubles had long been a headache for _everyone_ involved with the tour, not just Castiel and his executives.

“The second half will be better, I promise,” Dean replied, swallowing thickly as he tried to make himself even smaller.

“Don’t worry about them,” Castiel grumbled as he noticed Dean’s furtive glances at various members of the tech crew. “Your attention should be on me right now. What’s going on with you?”

“Sir, I...do we really have to do this _here_?”

“I will correct you whenever you’re at fault.”

“And I’ve always agreed to that, until now,” Dean protested firmly, without whining. “Not here.”

“Fine. Wait for me in my dressing room. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Dean hightailed away as Castiel made his way over to Bobby, who had been watching both of them with interest and dread.

\-------------

“No, actually I _don’t_ think you should give him a break,” Bobby replied resentfully, surprising his boss altogether. “Kid’s playing like shit. He needs to pull it together ASAP.”

“Okay, wait. So I’m _not_ overreacting?” Castiel asked.

Bobby shook his head again. “Nope. You’re surprisingly calm, actually. I’d be raking him over the coals a few times by now if I was in charge.”

“Bobby, I want you go to talk to him. He doesn’t listen when he’s angry with me.”

“He doesn’t listen, period. What did you do?”

Castiel shook his head, thinking of how not endorsing Sam for the Chicago Symphony was the only thing to do, and how secretly good it had felt to leave the brat in a lurch. But he would never admit it, of course. _Sorry not sorry_ , as all the teenagers said these days. 

“I don’t have time to explain. Short version: you can thank Sam for this mess. Again.”

Bobby took a deep breath. “Oh boy. He continues to haunt us, big surprise. Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need luck. Just some good words.”

“Maybe you should do it. He needs the damned cane to get his head back in the game, pronto.”

Castiel blinked in surprise, again. “What? I thought you didn’t support that.”

Bobby shrugged. “No, but did you hear how he glossed over those arpeggios like they were a row of toothpicks? Paganini is tossing and turning in his grave right now, lemme tell ya. Sacreligious. Hell, if you’re not going to cane him, I might.”

Castiel nodded. “Hmmm. We’ll see. Thanks, Bobby.”

“Don’t know what for, but you’re welcome.”

\-------------

Castiel gently shut the door behind him as he walked into his dressing room and around the corner to face his errant violinist, who was standing there sweating profusely from anxiety. Castiel almost asked him if he was feeling sick, but changed his mind lest he give Dean an easy way out. No, this was too important.

“You don’t like change, I know,” Castiel began calmly. “The counter not being there is throwing you off, am I correct?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean confirmed miserably. “I like to have it there to count my mistakes, as stupid as that sounds.”

 _So you can torture yourself later,_ Castiel added silently.

“It’s not stupid. We’ll put it back.”

“I...are you serious?” Dean asked hopefully. “I thought for sure you would say no.”

Castiel turned and rummaged in his music bag to pull out the counter. “Still trying to guess what I’m thinking? Here it is. Go put it on the piano. Obviously you won’t be caned per our new agreement, but I do hope it will be helpful to you in the second half.”

Dean gulped. He’d been expecting a fight, not a capitulation, and didn’t know how to react. 

“Thank you. Um, I...I really messed up those arpeggios, didn’t I?”

Castiel faced him again, his expression unreadable and deceptively tranquil, which really meant that he was seconds away from detonating if Dean wasn’t careful.

“You didn’t just mess them up. You butchered them. You’d better be prepared for it to be discussed at length in tomorrow’s debrief. Not to mention all the reviews later will undoubtedly mention it. I’m going to make you rehearse it about a thousand times before tomorrow, you must know that.”

Dean nodded gravely. “Of course. And I will. You didn’t answer any of my texts today.”

Castiel was caught off guard by the hasty change of subject, but recovered quickly. “I’ve been busy. You can’t expect me to just drop everything and-”

“Yes I can. They were important and time-sensitive,” Dean interrupted without flinching.

“Dean, settle down,” Castiel ordered firmly as he suppressed yet another sigh. “I can only take so much drama in one day. Go to your dressing room”

“Drama..?”

“Yes, _drama_ . It’s always something with you! Every five minutes it seems. This whole tour has been a nightmare. Can’t I just have _one_ day of peace? And don’t ever interrupt me again, by the way.” Castiel dropped his phone irritably on his dressing room table and flopped down on the enormous couch.

Dean felt his heart clawing and tearing at his insides, and the shocking feeling of ice water being doused over his head at the same time nearly brought him to tears.

“That’s not fair,” he whispered before clearing his throat and repeating himself more firmly. “That’s _really_ unfair. You of all people know what I’ve been through, and how hard I’m working to fix it. So…how could you say that?”

“Because _you of all people_ know what you’ve put me through in the process, and how hard I’ve tried to fix it as well. Mostly to no avail, considering tonight has been a total disaster. We’ll be lucky if this doesn’t negatively impact the rest of the tour. So thanks for that. I need to meditate so at least one of us gets back in the right frame of mind tonight. You’re dismissed,” Castiel ordered rudely as he took up his phone again and aggressively scrolled through his notifications. 

“Cas-”

“ _Get out_.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispered again. No answer, so he left the room quickly, crestfallen and broken, and wound his way through the blurry maze of hallways in search of somewhere he could meltdown in private.

—-

“Jesus H. Christ on a pogo stick. Where the holy hell have you been?” Bobby nearly squealed. “Intermission is twenty minutes-”

“I needed air.” Dean quickly threaded his way back to the stage, somehow knowing where he was going now, the man scrambling behind him to keep up. 

“Cas is really going to have your ass now. Good god, boy, you think maybe taking off for 45 minutes without telling anyone-”

“I was only at the loading dock having a nervous breakdown, and by the way I’ve told you a dozen times before not to call me _boy_ ,” Dean replied sharply as he pushed aside the curtains and stalked to his seat. He was well aware of the looks being thrown at him by Charlie and Castiel, but he ignored them, sat down, and focused on tuning his violin, which wasn’t at all cooperating tonight.

“I’m ready,” he heard Charlie say to Castiel while he busily fine-tuned his strings to his exact specifications.

“May I have an E, please?” he asked, a little too loudly in his impatience, and he nodded in thanks as Castiel immediately played the note on the piano. Still flat, because of course it fucking was. Dean increased the tension aggressively; the string snapped under the sudden stress and whipped him across the eye. The snap was _loud_ \- everyone nearby had jumped - and it _hurt_.

“Fuck!”

He handed the violin to Charlie, who deftly removed the offending string while Dean wiped his eye, reached into his pocket, and tore open a new Obligato string packet.

“Thanks, Charlie.”

“No problem. Hey, at least it happened now and not smack in the middle of the Fauré.”

Dean took a moment to glance at her as he took the instrument back; it was pretty amazing how fond he had gotten of their new cellist in less than 48 hours. Dean felt the tension in his shoulders diffuse slightly as he wound the string back up and tuned it slowly, having just learned a critical lesson about taking one’s anger out on a million-dollar instrument.

“You know what I just realized?” he said conversationally, ignoring Castiel’s ice-cold glare from the piano bench. “My old violin is named Charlie.”

“Seriously? That’s kind of awesome. Why’d you name it that?”

“I don’t remember, but my dad said I insisted on it. Childhood friend, maybe. She’s a girl, too-”

“You’re bleeding,” Castiel interrupted firmly, and indeed Dean felt the slash near his eye socket burning; the string had sliced some very thin skin on the way to whacking his cornea. He kept tuning in deep concentration until Bobby came out on stage and handed him a tissue.

“Barely deeper than a paper cut,” the man grumbled kindly. “You’ll survive.”

Dean wiped away the blobs of blood, asked for another E from the piano, and finally set his violin on his knee in satisfaction. He had forgotten all about being indignant suddenly, and just wanted to play and get this night over with.

“I’m ready, sir,” he finally said to Castiel as he stuffed the tissue in his pocket and glanced at the counter on the piano. Zero. That wouldn’t last long, Dean thought. 

Castiel’s voice was tight as he called for the curtains to open, his expression hard, but those things only made Dean feel much better, not worse. Good. Let Cas be mad, because at least Dean knew where he stood now. And that was everything he needed at the moment.

————

>> _I’m at urgent care. Or whatever they call it here in Tokyo. Scratched my cornea and they’re putting some ridiculous patch on my eye. Damn it Jim, I’m a violinist, not a pirate!_

Dean waited and waited and waited, but there was no reply from Sam several minutes later even though the message was read. He texted him again impatiently.

>> _Cas says he was only obeying your wishes not to_

He stopped typing as the three little dots popped up showing Sam was keying in a reply. Good. But...then the dots went away. No reply again; apparently Sam changed his mind or got busy with something else. For a long time. _Fuck._

>> _Cas says he was only obeying your wishes not to interfere with your life anymore, he says. Called you a hypocrite. Not my words. What’s the story Sam_

_ << You’re not going to believe this. He messaged me an hour ago and we’ve been having a really good conversation since then. Hang on _

Dean sat up straight and threw the blanket off his lap, his heart pounding

>> _Oh my god. What’s he saying?_

_ << His birth mom died, for one thing. _

Dean dialed Sam as fast as his fingers would let him.

“Dude. Tell me the whole story,” he said quickly, and quietly; there were many other patients in the hospital waiting room. Also there was Castiel’s guard, Rufus, who had rode with him here and was apparently bored to tears by having to babysit Dean, whom he had strongly and actively disliked since being sideswiped by the  Impala during one of Dean’s late night drunk driving excursions in Los Angeles almost six months ago.

“Castiel’s birth mom died the day before yesterday. Did you know?”

“No! What the fuck. I mean, I knew he was a little off, but I thought it was me.”

“Why? What did you do?”

Dean felt shame and heat fill his heart suddenly as he thought about how he’d confronted Cas about not answering his texts. “We...we had a fight.”

“No shit.”

“I know. He said some horrible things to me, and I...wait. Why was he messaging _you_?”

“Well, two days ago I sent him an apology for being a dick, and he accepted it, I guess. Never thought I’d hear from him again.”

Dean’s eyebrows furrowed. “Wait, you...you _apologized_ to him? Like, an actual _real_ apology?”

“I know it’s hard to believe,” Sam sighed. “But yes, I actually did. Anyway, he wrote back an hour ago, like I said. He also apologized for not writing back right away and said he’d been dealing with funeral arrangements for his mom.”

Dean’s heart fell, again. “Oh my god. _Fuck._ Give me a minute to process this. Can I call you back?”

“Yeah. By the way, he’s going to give me the endorsement for Chicago after all. He’s been really encouraging and nice about it. If I didn’t know better, I’d think someone stole his phone and it’s not him texting me. Still not sure, honestly. I’m kind of weirded out?”

“Okay. Thanks. I’ll call you back in a little bit.”

Dean hung up and called Castiel, even though he had no idea what on earth to say.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Mr. Novak, I’m....sorry, I shouldn’t have called you.”

“Then why did you?” Castiel’s replied tersely.

“Because I’m so sorry about your mom,” Dean blurted, and in the ensuing dead silence that followed he suddenly was overcome with paralzying fear that Sam had maybe made that up, as absurd as that would be.

“If you’re calling about the schedule change, Chuck will be in touch with you about what to do for the next week while I’m gone.”

“Gone?” Dean parroted breathlessly. 

“You haven’t read the latest memos, have you?” It wasn’t really a question; Dean was absolutely notorious for being out of the loop for days because he hated checking his email.

“Um. I’ve been dealing with my eye thing.”

A nurse came out and called his name loudly, butchering the pronunciation in her Japanese accent.

“Speaking of which, they just called me to go in. Can I call you back, sir?”

“I’m on the way to the airport.”

“Okay, I’ll call you as soon as I can. Please pick up, okay?”

\--------

Castiel didn’t pick up, not did he answer any texts. Dean flew to Los Angeles that evening and was thrilled when Sam agreed to pick him up from the airport. When he finally found him in baggage claim, though, he was far more concerned than happy.

“Dude. Have you, like, not shaved since you left the tour?”

“Don’t exaggerate,” Sam scoffed as he opened the trunk of his car and manhandled Dean’s suitcase into it. “It’s only been a couple weeks. Hey, um...are you up for a bit of a task today that might not be very pleasant?”

“What?”

Sam took a deep breath, then leaned all the way into his trunk and slowly scooted forward a small, heavily-built whitecardboard box. It was labeled haphazardly with a Sharpie: _John Winchester,_ along with his birth and death dates.

“Oh, fuck,” Dean breathed.

“Yeah. Um, this is long overdue, but I got him a spot in the columbarium at Forest Lawn, and they just put up his plaque last week. So we should go drop him off.”

“I thought we were going to scatter him,” Dean murmured. God, but that was a weird sentence to say out loud.

“Changed my mind.”

“Without consulting me?”

Sam nodded, his expression a little more sheepish than Dean expected. “Yeah. I...I did it for you, actually. You need closure. Having a place to go to, you know, to visit him, I thought…”

Dean swallowed hard and looked his brother in the eyes. “It’s okay, Sammy. Relax. I’m fine. Let’s, um...let’s go get it over with then, yeah?”

Sam smiled a little as he went around to the driver side of the car and climbed in. “Yup. You talk to Cas?”

Dean got in the passenger seat and buckled his belt, then cautiously closed the heavy door that was so prone to slamming. “Not really. Sam, I fucked up and need your advice.”

“My advice..? I can’t remember you ever asking for my advice.”

“Well, you’re the only one who can see this objectively at the moment. Everyone else is too pissed off and won’t talk to me. Except Charlie, of course, but I don’t know her well enough to ask her what to do.”

“Okay. Hang on.” Sam slid the parking slip into the little machine, paid the $3 for short-term parking, then drove out of LAX and got on the 405 N freeway.

“Oh, this traffic. Gotta love it. Home sweet home,” Dean said, but he didn’t really feel it. Los Angeles never had been home for him, there were too many bad memories.

“Yeah. Looking forward to getting stuck in slightly better traffic in Chicago. Hey, before I give you any advice, read this text message between me and Cas. It’s important.”

Dean took Sam’s phone from his hand and held his breath, not knowing what to expect. By the time he’d finished, he was wiping his eyes of the profuse tears that would not stop no matter what else he tried to think about to halt them.

“Dude,” he finally said, quietly.

“Yeah…”

“I...I’m proud of you, Sammy. You did good.”

Sam swallowed hard. “I just wish I would have come to my fucking senses before I got kicked off the tour. You know?”

“I know exactly what you mean. Been there, done that a dozen times over.”

“Only a dozen?” Sam nudged Dean in the side mischievously.

“Ha. Okay, two dozen. Cas is really something, isn’t he? He says he holds grudges for life, but this…” Dean gestured at the phone he was still holding. “I mean, this is really something. Complete forgiveness, and jokes, and...I don’t even know what to say. You both just really took the ball and ran with it. Holy shit.”

“Yeah. One more thing. Two, actually. Go to my email.”

Dean flipped the icons around and tapped on gmail. “What am I looking for?”

“The email from Donna something. Read it.”

“Donna Hanscum?”

“Yeah. Open it.”

Dean read it, holding his breath the entire time. It was a contract and job offer for an associate professor position at the University of California, Berkeley.

“Wait, Sam. I’m confused. What is this?”

“Exactly what it looks like. I have to make a big decision in the next few days. Teach the snowflakes cello at Cal, or move to Chicago and play with the symphony.”

“Oh my god. What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. As a Stanford grad it would kill me to defect, but it’s also kind of awesome. But you know how much I love Chicago.”

The car was silent for at least two miles as Sam’s car crawled through heavy traffic past the Getty Center and into the Valley. Eventually Dean found his words again.

“Congratulations, Sam. I’m...I’m proud of you. Also kind of sad for me, but very proud of you.”

“What are you going to do, Dean?”

More silence, then, “I have no fucking idea. Guess I should check my email. I’ve gotten a lot of inquiries, but...I mean, the Berlin Symphony, for one. But fuck, my performance in Tokyo a few days ago probably killed my chances for anything after this. I was such a melting hot mess. Glad you weren’t there to witness it.”

“The reviews aren’t that bad at all. I’ve been following the tour’s Twitter feed. You really showed up in the second half, and...I don’t know, Japanese critics are more polite than most. They cut you some slack, don’t let it get you down.”

“If you say so.”

“Cheer up. Be happy that it happened in Tokyo, if it had to happen. We all have our bad days.”

“This wasn’t just a bad day,” Dean grumbled. “It was like fucking Chernobyl part two. I fought with Cas during intermission, then took off and had a meltdown for 45 minutes before going back to finish. The next morning at the debrief, Cas and Gabe actually debated refunding the audience half the cost of their tickets to make up for the first half. _That’s_ how bad it was. I was fucking sobbing, Sam, no joke. They were ruthless. Even Charlie couldn’t make me feel better.”

“Okay. Well, it’s in the past.”

“Not for me, it isn’t. I...I had a couple beers to help me get through the night. But I didn’t get drunk.”

“Good. You’re mad at Cas and Gabe, then?”

“No! Of course not. I’m mad at me. Especially for not seeing something was wrong with Cas. If I wasn’t so busy feeling sorry for myself, I could have been less needy and prevented the fight altogether.”

Sam was silent as he transitioned his car to the 101 freeway, which was surprisingly clear of traffic for a change. “Okay. We’ll be there in twenty one minutes. Tell me everything that happened.”

\-----------------------

“...and then I texted him before his flight took off. He’s been home now for almost a whole day and hasn’t answered me yet.”

Just as Dean finished that sentence, his phone dinged with Castiel’s text tone.

“Speak of the devil! Finally. Hang on.”

<< _If you’re not busy, please stop by the house today for a few minutes. You and Sam together_

“Oh, shit,” Dean gasped as he read it aloud. “What do you think of that?”

Sam’s eyes were wider than Dean had ever seen them. “Uh. Crap. Why?”

“What do I say?” Dean asked frantically.

“Ask him what time is best, and tell him we’ll be there. There’s no other choice.”

“Shit. Okay.”

>> _We are dropping off our dad’s ashes right now, what time is good?_

_ << After 1pm _

_ >> We can be there 2:30. Is there anything we should prepare to discuss? _

_ << No. Just stop by. Come hungry. _

_ >> Okay. See you soon _

“Just food. No discussion. Okay? That’s...weird?” Dean prompted.

“Yeah. I...hmmm.”

They didn’t speak again until after John’s ashes had been dropped off at the front desk of Forest Lawn, which Dean found surprisingly unemotional; it felt basically like any other errand. Dropping off dry cleaning, or going to the laundromat.

“Okay, that was…um. Not sad?”

Sam pulled out his key fob and _boop boop!_ went his car.

“Yeah. It will be different once he’s actually in his new spot and we visit the columbarium. Maybe tomorrow. Come on, let’s go to my house and change and go see Cas. I gotta shave, too. Then we’ll go eat.”

\--------------

Dean and Sam were completely unprepared for the scene that greeted them at Castiel’s estate as they pulled up and let the valet take Sam’s car. Well over two hundred people were crowded into the house; caterers and food and staff filled every open spot. The event lacked a sense of joy, however, and that’s what made Dean and Sam realize what was going on when they were greeted by a very somber Michael near the kitchen.

“I’m so sorry about your mom,” Sam said.

“Not my mom,” Michael corrected him. “Castiel’s. Half-brother, remember? We all are.”

“Right, sorry. Wow, there are a lot of people here.”

“Cas wants to see you. I’ll take you to him.”

Dean looked down at his clothes to make sure all was in order, vastly thankful that Sam had ignored his protests about stopping to change into nicer clothing. Dean had wanted to eat first. The brothers quietly followed Michael upstairs and into a small, silent sitting room down at the end of the hall. Castiel was there completely by himself, flipping through a book of some sort, and didn’t see them come in.

“Cas?” called Michael softly. “They’re here.”

He looked up with red-rimmed eyes and reluctantly shut the book. Sam went up and immediately offered his right hand to Cas, who took it and shook it gravely with his usual ironclad grip before doing the same with Dean, although he avoided eye contact with the younger Winchester for now.

“Thank you for coming. Get some food and mingle. There are a lot of interesting people here. It will be good to make some connections. Especially you, Dean.”

Sam glanced at his brother. “I...it seems kind of wrong to, um, network at a memorial service, with respect.”

“This isn’t a memorial service for my birth mother, despite the admittedly bleak atmosphere of the proceedings. It’s the yearly benefit for the arts center. So, feel free to network all you want. Gabe and Michael will help introduce you around. But before you do….Dean, a moment, please?”

Sam took his cue and immediately went out, shutting the door quietly behind him. Dean faced Castiel, nearly wetting his pants in all his anxiety. He’d forgotten all about the stupid patch over his eye at this point.

“I’m sorry, sir. Were you close to her?"

“No. She gave me up very young. I consider my real mother someone else. Let me talk, please. And not about her.”

Dean clamped his mouth shut, nodded, and tried not to stare at Castiel’s bloodshot eyes. 

“Dean, I’m not going to apologize for how I feel. I can’t, it wouldn’t be fair to either of us. I’m going to make a proposal instead that might help us get through the rest of the tour without killing each other.”

Good, so apparently he wasn’t kicked off the tour. _Phew. “_ Yes, sir?”

“First of all, I promised you I wouldn’t dredge up the past again and that you’d have a fresh start with me. Obviously, I blew that pledge out of the water back in Tokyo. I was wrong, and I’m deeply sorry. _Don’t_ talk, just listen. Dean, I think we’re just too different to ever have any kind of positive working relationship. I think it’s best if we just agree to avoid each other for the next three months, and stop trying to fix this by putting square pegs into round holes.”

“You just want to surrender?” Dean clarified in annoyance.

“Whatever you want to call it. I don’t want to be your mentor anymore, or your boss, or anything else. I’m just a piano player from now on. After this tour, we’ll go on our separate ways, and let that be the end of it.”

Dean was too hurt to respond at the moment. He just stared and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“I realize this is hurting your feelings,” Castiel responded tiredly, “but it’s an absolutely necessary step. I’m also tearing up every rider that your contract has, so you’re free to do whatever you want to get through the tour. I won’t try to control you anymore, and neither will Bobby.”

Dean nodded. “Right. So, you’re just a piano player and I’m just a violin player. Nothing more, huh?”

“No. Never has been anything more.”

“You don’t mean that,” Dean retorted hotly. “That’s bullshit.”

“I expect you to be in Osaka in six days, and if you botch another concert like you did in Tokyo, you’re off the tour, just like anyone else would be. Or if you do drugs, or come to work drunk, or whatever. Same thing. No more special treatment.”

“Cas, I don’t drink to excess anymore, and I’ve _never_ done drugs!”

“Never said you did. I’m not angry with you, Dean. I’m just acknowledging that all my efforts to create some kind of long-lasting partnership with you aren’t going to work. And mostly that’s because of me, not you. I’m a control freak, and you are utterly uncontrollable. So I think it’s best that we just make the best of what we have and try to maintain it for twelve more weeks.”

Dean refused to let himself get emotional. No, this was Castiel’s emotional state, not his own.

“Mr. Novak, you’ve already seen what happens to me when you ignore me. It doesn’t go over well, and that’s what started our last fight in the first place, remember? But that’s what you want to do for twelve weeks straight?”

“Not ignore you, no. Let you sink or swim, yes, or whatever you want to call it.”

“Sure,” Dean replied, heavy skepticism tinting his tone. “Is this some kind of reverse psychology trick?”

“No. Your counselors in New York recommended this course of action. Weeks ago, actually. I ignored them, sorry to say, because I wanted you to still...idolize me, I guess. You already know I have a massive ego, so that shouldn’t be a surprise. But now? I’m giving that up. I’m not going to worry if you dislike me, or if you fail. You have to find your own way, and you have a contract that obliges you to finish this tour. So I’m going to trust that without me, you will find a way to finish it.”

“I _can’t,_ ” Dean replied firmly. “I need your help.”

“You’ll still have it, if you ask. But I can’t offer it anymore.”

Dean nodded again and huffed. He was angry, hurt, appalled, and a hundred other things.

“Fine. I’m on my own, then. No fines anymore, no anything?”

“Correct.”

“Why again exactly?”

“Because I think you need to learn how to start making good decisions on your own. You don’t need a mother hen telling you what time to go to bed.”

“No, and I never did, but Cas...this fucking hurts my feelings right now. You’re giving up on me.”

Castiel smiled just a little. “No, I’m not. Just the opposite. Think about it a little more. But first, go do some mingling. Everyone wants to meet you.”

“Fuck them. I don’t care. I’m leaving.”

“I knew you’d say that. See you in Osaka, then.”

Dean headed towards the door, intending to stalk out and make a statement while doing so But something stopped him, and he turned back to face Cas again, who was watching him intently. 

“You’re just willing to sit back and watch me fail, huh? After all this?”

Cas’ smile fell off. “You’re already failing, Dean. If you don’t understand that, I don’t know how to help you.”

Dean was rendered nearly speechless by that accusation, but he somehow found his voice. “I’m...you think I’m failing now? Are you fucking serious?”

“Absolutely, and I’m not even referring to that debacle in Tokyo. You’ve ignored and lost post-tour opportunities left and right, you flatout refuse to meet people who are interested in your career, you won’t stagedoor which turns your own fans against you, you can’t get along with anybody in this company, and worst of all? You still continue to treat me as your number one enemy. Not only that, you also make enemies out of everybody who offers to help you, although you claim to need people in your life who can help you. So I’m officially out of ideas and energy, Dean, until you decide to stop being such a bloody hypocrite all the damned time!”

Dean was taken aback by this speech, despite it being delivered in calm, even tones. His face burned with shame and vexation as he fought for words to make a response.

“Wow. Why don’t you tell me how you really feel? Don’t hold back. I’m leaving now, don’t worry. Sorry about your mother.”

He turned around again and stalked back downstairs, searching everywhere for Sam for several minutes before finally deciding to call him.

“Sam? Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“Hang on, I have like four people lined up to meet you. They’re literally waiting in a line.”

“Not in the mood, Sammy. Where are you?”

“The library. Come down and meet them, don’t be a dick. Come on.”

Sam hung up, and Dean nearly screamed in frustration as he made his way to retrieve his brother.

“Sam. Come on.”

“Hey, where have you been? Come over here, I’ve got the head of the New York City Ballet over here and he’s awesome.”

“I really don’t want to-”

“Smile, Dean. Stop looking like you’re sucking a dirty dick.”

“Sam! Gross. What the fuck.”

“Come on.” 

Dean gave in as his brother dragged him over to the corner, next to an enormous table with a gemstone globe embedded into it, and a tall man standing nearby, watching him expectantly.

“Dean Winchester,” Dean grumbled as he stuck his hand out irritably. 

“Victor Henrikson. Huge fan of your work, man. The hugest. So good to meet you. Been following the tour like a hawk, watching all the videos. Man, you’re a lot taller in person.” 

“What videos? Really?”

“Oh man, fuck yeah. Facebook live, mostly. Instagram stories. Dude, you can _play_ , and you know it. Listen, we got this new show going up in February, and I need a firecracker with an attitude to fill an onstage role. Not down in the pit, _onstage_. It’s a trip. Think Lord of the Dance meets Hamilton meets Cirque du Soleil.”

“Um. But I’m...I’m a _classical_ musician.”

“Me too, I hear you. But let me tell you about it, you decide if you want to audition before you go back to Japan. I mean, honestly, it’s not going to make you a millionaire, but it’ll be fun as hell. How much time do you have?”

Dean looked up to see Castiel absently descending the staircase out in the foyer, looking for all the world like he wanted to be anywhere else but here.

_Fuck it. Why not._

“Um. Yeah, Mr. Hendrickson. I got a few minutes. Tell me about it.”

“None of this _mister_ shit. I’m just me, I’m Victor. Alright, short version. Wait, you better sit down. So, get this….”

\-------------------

“Mr. Novak?” Dean called quietly around the sitting room door as he stuck his head partially in.

“Yes? Come in.”

The door sqeaked as Dean looked further in while carefully staying in the hallway. “Just checking in before I go. You okay? Oh...shit, did I wake you?”

Castiel sat up in the chair where he’d been dozing off and drained the rest of his scotch glass. “You’re still here? I thought you left hours ago.”

“No, I...actually, believe it or not, I took your advice, met a lot of people, got some numbers and emails. Exciting stuff. Your friends are pretty cool. Some of them are whackadoodles, but I’m sure you know that.”

Cas smiled faintly. “Anyone in particular you want to know more about?”

“Victor Hendrickson. What do you think of him?”

“He swears too much, like you. And he’s a playboy, downright notorious for his sexual escapades. He tried to get me and my wife into a threesome on several occasions.”

“Oh my god.” Dean blushed fiercely, just barely biting back a cheeky reply that would have been _did he succeed?_

“But as far as the arts go, I admire his passion and his vision, and there’s no one more original and willing to take risks than him.”

“Good to know. He wants me to audition for this crazy new musical in New York. I said yes, so I’m going to play for him tomorrow in Pasadena.”

“Don’t take this as discouragement, Dean. Just have back-up plans whatever you decide to do. Not just for Victor - for anyone. I want you to have...never mind.”

Dean cocked his head. “What? I’m listening.”

“But I was about to tell you what to do, and you don’t like that.”

“I didn’t take it that way,” Dean replied evenly. “I’m genuinely interested in what you have to say.”

“Come in and close the door.”

“Okay. Sam’s waiting for me downstairs, so I won’t take up too much of your time.”

“Victor, like many others in his circles and mine, gets very excitable about new projects, and most of them don’t come into fruition.”

“I know that, sir,” Dean replied politely.

“I’ve been in this business for decades, and I can say with near certainty that 95% of shows like Victor’s don’t make it past a month on the stage. Who knows, maybe he’ll be the next Lin Manuel. But you’ve got to have several back-up plans just in case. Four, even five of them. Work constantly, don’t put all your eggs in one basket, never stop meeting people. The moment you stop moving, the work stops coming.”

Dean nodded sagely. “I thought for sure you were about to tell me to join a stuffy old symphony and just play it safe.”

“I would tell anyone else that, perhaps. But you’re different. I don’t see that for you.”

Now it was Dean’s turn to smile a little. “Well, I’m not as ambitious as you think. The thought of moving to New York terrifies me.”

“It’s not about ambition or courage. It’s about variety, not getting bored, not settling, not getting stuck on a seven-month tour you never wanted to be on.”

That last sentence hung in the air like the stink of burning popcorn in the microwave. Dean tried not to fidget around like a toddler in the ensuing awkward silence.

“But I want to be on it now, for what it’s worth,” he finally responded.

“Glad to hear,” Castiel responded neutrally. _Better late than never_ , he seemed to really say.

“Sir, I....” Dean could feel his heart pounding, and imagined that Cas could see it pulsating under his shirt. “I’m onboard with your plan now. It just took me a few hours of thinking to wrap my brain around it. You’re right, it’s best to just kind of separate ourselves from each other as best we can. I just don’t think anything I ever do will satisfy you, no offense.”

“I can hardly take offense when I feel the same way, Dean.”

“Yeah. Speaking of not getting along, I understand from Sam that you two have...for lack of a better term, _kissed and made up_. I’m really grateful for that. May I ask what prompted it?”

“No.”

Of course. Dean smiled thinly again. “Alright. Well, then. Can I just say one more thing before I go?”

“One more thing. Then I need to go downstairs and kick everyone out of my house.”

Dean braced himself and clenched his fists tightly to keep himself from getting emotional. “Okay, it’s about what happened in Tokyo. My behavior during intermission and on the bus back to the hotel was...I don’t even have words for it. Just that it’ll never happen again.”

“I trust that it won’t.”

“Thank you. Um I need to go,” Dean said quickly, “before I cry. See you in Osaka.”

“See you there. And Dean? If you want to text me after you audition tomorrow to tell me how it went, I’d be glad to hear about it.”

“Yes, sir. I will. Goodnight. I’m so very sorry about your mother.”

“Thank you. Goodnight, Dean.”

\------

ONE WEEK LATER - OSAKA

“Off to stagedoor,” Charlie blurted as she popped her head in Dean’s dressing room.

“Wait for me!”

“What?”

“Wait, I’m coming,” Dean yelled as he struggled to get his jean jacket on over his long-sleeved shirt. When he finally succeeded, he took long strides to catch up with Charlie further down the hall. 

“Wow, what’s the occasion? Do you have friends here tonight?”

“Nope. Just thought I’d give this another try. It freaked me out the first few times, that’s all.”

Charlie laughed. “Oh, it’s fun. Try to enjoy.”

Dean caught his breath as a man in a dark green suit threw open the side door of the theater Castiel was already there, signing autographs and smiling. He didn’t see Dean at first, since Charlie was between them, so Dean was able to relax and not be so self-concious. Good god, there were a lot of girls out there. Some of them squealing, all of them wanting selfies with him, some wanting autographs. It was overwhelming, and it was comforting to have Charlie bumping shoulders with him in the tiny space in the alley.

“This is nuts,” he said to her as he fake-grinned and took his twentieth selfie with a female teenager. 

“It’s so fun, Dean. Hang in there, don’t be fake.”

“They don’t speak English, I think.”

Castiel looked around Charlie and spotted Dean, and his expression lit up brightly when he saw his young charge smiling and almost laughing. _Almost._ The young man was obviously stressed but also exhilarated and being a good sport as the long file of women continued past them, guided by security gently but firmly through the alley and around the corner.

“You’re going to be talk of the town tomorrow, kind of,” Charlie said.

Dean gritted his teeth; another selfie request. “Um.” FLASH! “Kind of?” FLASH! “I’m going to be blind is what I’m going to be. And deaf.”

Fifteen minutes later the crowd was gone, and Dean had long forgotten about his original apprehension and annoyance at the situation. That was all replaced by something he hadn’t felt in...in...maybe since he was a teenager. Was it really...did he just actually _have fun?_

Charlie turned to him as the trio re-entered the hallway and walked back to their dressing rooms.

“Well?” asked Charlie. “You survived. Congratulations!”

Dean glanced at Castiel, who was less than two feet away and busily scrolling the notifications on his phone.

“I have to admit it, that was fun,” he said cautiously, still not sure if that’s what it was or not. He was so unfamiliar with the feeling lately.

“Good. Hope that means you’re doing it again tomorrow?” Charlie was positively glowing.

“I think so. I’ll how I feel.”

Dean glanced at Castiel. The man was obviously pretending not to be paying attention to the chatter, but Dean caught him smiling, and it obviously had nothing to do with his phone.

“Did you have fun, Mr. Novak?” Charlie asked.

“I do tend to enjoy audience interactions, yes,” he answered, now with a straight face and in the same tone that Spock might tell Captain Kirk that the engines were operating normally.

Dean’s dressing room was first on their path, and he disappeared into it with a wink at Charlie. He tried not to think about Sam’s move to Chicago next week as he changed his clothes, nor of the stupid eye patch that was irritating his eye intensely as he packed away all his personal hygiene items, nor of the fact that while he packed up his violin, he was keenly and painfully aware that he only had 11 weeks to get his shit together and come up with a plan after the tour.

He quietly climbed onto the bus behind Charlie, planted his butt in the back seat as usual, and picked up his phone to post a few photos from the concert to Instagram. He hadn’t touched the app for 8 weeks, and had hundreds of unread comments, but he ignored them for now and scrolled through the tour’s Instagram feed for the very first time. His heart panged a bit as he saw the old pictures of Sam, and suddenly the post-concert glow disappeared in a flash as an incoming text buzzed his phone while he was just about to share the photos.

<< _Think I just sold the house!_

_ >> Good job Sammy. That was fast. My stuff in storage yet? _

_ << Yup. Fit in my car in one trip. You have like, nothing now. Where did everything go?? _

Dean swallowed hard. He’d donated it all to Goodwill in a fit of despair shortly before the tour, convinced that he’d spend the rest of his life in jail anyway and wouldn’t need all that shit. God, he hadn’t thought about jail for a while...

_ >> Did you have a chance to find that info on apartments in New York? _

_ << Jesus Dean. Yeah like three days ago. Check your freakin’ email every once in a while _

>> _Sorry_

Dean stuffed his phone into his duffel, opting not to make his sudden melancholy worse, forgetting all about the photos ready to post to Instagram. He closed his eyes in the hopes of sleep that never came. Five very long hours later, the bus arrived in Hiroshima at 3am. There he drank a small amount of sake to make himself sleepy - which worked wonders - then fell asleep face down on the bed in his clothes and shoes and dreamed about jail all night long.

 


	140. Chapter 140

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's complete. TEARS!!!!!!!!! 
> 
> I hope you are happy with the ending. Love you all, thanks for joining me on this awesome ride xoxo

**Delhi, India** \- one month until end of the tour.

“Hello Dean, it’s Castiel. Is this a good time to talk for a few minutes? Gabe just told me we haven’t received your application for the artistic coordinator position yet.”

Dean set down his beer bottle on the nightstand and cleared his throat while he popped his laptop lid back open. “This a good time. I’m working on it right now, but…”

“But what?”

“You know that I’m totally overqualified for this, right? It’s insulting.”

“Deal with it.  I’m not going to hire you at a higher level until you can get through at least one year without being a complete disaster.”

Dean slammed the lid to his laptop and picked his beer back up. “So much for that, then. I’m sorry I wasted your time about this in the first place.”

“Settle down, Dean,” Castiel replied calmly. “I realize you’re very disappointed about the Berlin Symphony falling through, but that wasn’t my fault. You screwed it up all on your own. What did you expect was going to happen, anyway? Are you drinking right now?”

“Just one beer, dad. Okay, maybe five.”

“Alright, I can see this wasn’t a good time after all.”

Dean laughed a little. “Oh, it’s a perfect time. I mean, I have four weeks left until unemployment, which means I go back to jail with no phone. So if not now, when?”

“I’m coming to your room to fire you in person. If you’re not dressed, get dressed and get packed.”

“Wait. I don’t want to see you in person though...hello? _Fuck_.” 

The knock came in record time. Dean raised his head slightly and pried his eyes open. 

...Wait, open..? Why were they closed in the first place? And when did he lay down, exactly?

_Knock, knock, knock…._

“Dean? _Dean_?”

“Hmmm?” Dean sat up groggily and peered around suspiciously through sleep-heavy eyelids, having no idea where he was suddenly. There were no beer bottles on his nightstand, and his head was clear. Sober as a nun.

“I...hello? What.”

“It’s Castiel,” said the muffled voice through the door. “Here for our meeting. Sorry I’m late.”

“Cas---tiel?” Dean called out in confusion. “Mr. Novak?”

“Yes. Are you okay?” said his boss’s voice with true concern.

Dean shook his heavy head and looked around, his entire body feeling sodden and oppressed, like he was laying on the bottom of a very warm ocean. 

 _Oh, that’s right._ India _. April 1st. 2nd? 3rd?_

“I’m sorry,” he called with a croak as he struggled upright. “Overslept. Give me a sec.”

_Fuck, that was a vivid dream...goddamned imagination going wild every night since Bangkok._

He sat up quickly enough to make himself dizzy, then threw on his shoes and let Castiel into the living area of the suite, accidentally blinding them both when he flipped on all the lights instead of just the overhead one.

“Sorry. I’m an idiot, didn’t set my alarm.”

“Thought we agreed you’d stop putting yourself down. Anyway, I’m almost an hour late, so it’s fine.” Castiel lifted his briefcase onto the table, and they both cringed at the overly loud _clang_ it made on the glass. 

Dean tried to crack a smile, and mostly failed. “Oh. I guess you’re going to have to fine yourself for being late?”

“Wasn’t my fault in the least.”

“Um...yeah, I was joking.”

Cas studied Dean closely, still deeply concerned for his young charge and obviously well aware that the uncharacteristically wild hair and stubble overgrowth indicated a problem. “Still having nightmares?”

Dean nodded reluctantly. _Nightmare_ was a good word for what he’d just experienced; he constantly lived in fear of disappointing Castiel again after Bangkok.

“Yeah. Guess the new anxiety med is making me kind of crazy.”

“You’re not crazy.”

“No, I don’t mean _actually_  crazy, like medically crazy. I just...never mind. Do you want a drink?”

“Ginger ale if you have it.” Castiel turned to his briefcase and flipped open the locks. “Our charter plane was late due to a technical issue, but we rushed to the hotel as quickly as we could in this horrific traffic. There seems to be no sense of order in the intersections, and the signal lights are all but completely disregarded by everyone involved. Very frustrating.”

“Yeah. Welcome to India.” Dean went to the tiny minibar and pushed aside the beer to get to the sodas in the back. “Thank you again for letting me skip the interviews yesterday to go to Berlin.”

“How was the trip? I expected you to give me an update long before now.”

“I lost my phone in security at Berlin airport, and I didn’t have my laptop with me. Sorry, but I did call Bobby from someone’s phone to let him know I was okay.”

“He didn’t tell me. I’ll address that with him directly.”

Dean cringed as he handed him the tiny can of Seagrams. “I have a new phone coming in an hour or so. The hotel concierge went to pick it up. Bobby was probably-”

“Don’t make excuses for him. How was the audition?”

 _Cringe again_. “Yes, sir. Sorry. The music director and I didn’t hit it off. The actual audition was great, I blew it out of the water. But I don’t like him.”

“Why?”

“He’s a dick. I tried to joke with him a little and he looked at me like I was completely insane, then he lectured me about not taking the opportunity seriously.”

“You were informal in a formal setting, and that’s a very German reaction. You should have known better.”

“But I did it on purpose,” Dean clarified, trying (and mostly failing) to shrug off Castiel’s brusque manner. “I can’t work with someone who has no sense of humor...so I turned down the callback audition a few hours later.”

Castiel closed his briefcase and sat down. “All because he didn’t have a sense of humor? Well, that’s your perogative. Let’s get our meeting started. I have a lot to do today.”

Dean turned a chair around backwards and sat down on it that way, like Sammy always did, without even consciously realizing it.

“So I take it you haven’t seen my agenda?” Castiel asked coolly.

“No. And I still have some cobwebs in my head from being asleep for so long. Maybe a little jet lag, too. I’m not as prepared as I should be, sorry.”

Castiel frowned, and Dean cringed for the third time in three minutes. “I sent it three days ago. Anyway, first things first. Gabe gave me some interesting news yesterday. You applied for the assistant director of education at Novak Arts Center on Friday.”

Dean nodded, then gulped. “Yes, sir.”

“You didn’t tell me. Why not?”

“I...it was kind of impulsive.” Dean blushed at how he thought about how he stayed up all night before leaving Berlin working on his resume, knowing it was going to be to no avail.

“I see. You’re not qualified for it. It requires a graduate degree. So we’ve already eliminated you from candidacy, which I’m sure you fully expected.”

Dean nodded again and took a chug of water. “Um. Sorry, I…”

Castiel sat back and stared at Dean in annoyance. “Turn your chair around, please. This is a business meeting, not happy hour.”

Dean did, but he didn’t apologize and waited for the visibly agitated Castiel to continue.

“I’m curious about why on earth you’d want to work for Gabriel,” Cas finally said. “You two fight like cats and dogs at the slightest provocation.”

Dean flushed hotly and squirmed a little. “Sir, maybe we could talk about this another time? When you’re in a better mood, maybe?”

“We’re talking about it now. Why did you apply when you knew you weren’t qualified?”

“I don’t know, okay? I want to work for you, not him, but you wouldn’t discuss it with me at our last meeting. So I had to get your attention some other way.”

Castiel looked at first like he was going to make a rude reply, but he suddenly relaxed and changed his tone entirely, much to Dean’s surprise and relief.

“We’ve talked about this before, although you said we didn’t,” Castiel replied gently. “We agreed months ago that we’re incompatible in the leader-to-subordinate roles. Ever since we’ve gone our own ways, so to speak, we haven’t fought. Do you think anything would be different back in Los Angeles, if I had you on my org chart there? When you can’t avoid me, and I can’t avoid you?”

“Yes. Because I’m different now.”

“But I’m not. You just said you can’t work with someone who doesn’t have a sense of humor. Someone who is a dick. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that you’ve accused me of both characteristics on several occasions. You weren’t wrong, either.” 

Castiel’s tone was patient and kind, but that didn’t make Dean feel any better. 

“Fine. But Cas, I don’t have anything else lined up. I’m starting to panic a little.”

“I get that. So my arts center is what, exactly? Your fall-back plan? Your last resort? How do you think that makes me feel to know that you’ll probably bail the moment you get a better offer?”

Dean’s heart cracked into a thousand pieces at Castiel’s hurt expression. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way. It’s not like that now. I…”

“What?” Castiel prompted after Dean trailed off wordlessly.

“Sorry that I’m not good enough for you, okay? I’ve been trying, at least.”

“Dean, the problem isn’t that you aren’t good enough to work for me. The problem is that you are _too good_ to work for me. An administrative role, in any capacity, is a complete waste of your talents. You need to be playing the violin, period. Not making copies and being Gabriel’s secretary.”

“Forget it then,” Dean grumbled with a sigh, his heart racing again. _Four more weeks, fuck._ “Speaking of playing, Hendrickson still wants me to do that crazy show in New York, but it doesn’t open for nine months. I don’t know if I want to do it, anyway.”

“If you already feel that way, then it looks like you have your answer.”

“You’d think so, right? But then sometimes I get really excited about it. Crap. I’ve got to figure this all out soon. I mean, it’s not like I’m making a ton of money from this tour. Chuck said you’ll be sending me a bill at the end to pay for all my fines, even after the bonus.”

“That was an inappropriate attempt at humor on his part, for which he has already been reprimanded. You know it’s not true.”

Dean shrugged. Not quite true, but every joke had a modicum of truth to it. Three months ago there had been a painful, nearly devastating dent to his wallet.

“Don’t look backwards, because you’re not going that direction,” Castiel said after a moment, reading Dean’s mind as usual. 

Dean eyed him tiredly, flushing hotly at the subtle reminder of what happened in Bangkok. He’d fallen off the wagon suddenly for no discernible reason, and got himself arrested for violence against a police officer while receiving a minor public intoxication citation. Castiel paid several bribes to get him released from jail, which had totaled nearly two weeks’ salary that Dean was obligated to repay. Even worse, the incident quickly made it into the papers and international press, and his stint at rehab was also uncovered in the meantime, which was why Dean couldn’t get a job all of a sudden. Three months later, none of this had blown over yet like all his previous PR disasters had. It had grown into an all-out scandal that he feared would follow and haunt him forever. He hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol since, but that didn’t matter.

“Back to the subject at hand,” Castiel said quickly as he watched Dean dive into the depths of yet another depression, for which he was taking increased medications.

“Yes, please. Sorry I wasted your time with this whole thing. I’m not even qualified to set foot in your buildings anymore. I mean, maybe I could be a janitor or something. Or a parking lot attendant. Can we just...what’s next on the agenda for this meeting, please?”

Castiel set down his iPad and turned it off, then shifted slightly in his chair to face Dean fully. “I know you’re feeling very low right now, but you needed Bangkok to happen.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“It’s not. You hit rock bottom, which is what we humans sometimes have to do before we get to incentive to start digging our way out. But you didn’t just dig your way out, you practically exploded to the surface. You’ve been incredible since then. Everything I’d ever hoped for since I first met you.”

Dean held back a sarcastic, nasty remark. He _had_ been a thousand times better, and minimizing that accomplishment would only make this conversation go the wrong direction.

“Sir, I just...it doesn’t seem to be making any difference. The things that are being said about me-”

“Are horrible, yes, but not career-ending. You have to get over it and let it pass, which they will. If you just disappear off the map, you lose. Stick around and you’ll prevail - but only if you keep up what you’re doing now.”

“The drugs, you mean,” Dean snarked back bitterly, which Castiel thankfully ignored.

“You need to keep playing. Working at the arts center is going to hold you back. It’s not right for you. So quit asking me, because I’m never going to hire you. Dean...don’t…”

“Too late,” Dean sniffed.

Castiel jumped up and went into the bathroom, then hurried back with the box of Kleenex for his very teary-eyed violinist. Fuck, but Dean hated crying in front of Cas! He felt a heavy hand on his shoulder as he blew his nose.

“You’ve never asked for my help to secure you a new position elsewhere, and I haven’t asked because I didn’t want to upset you. But I’m offering my help now. Do you want me to reach out to my contacts and get some balls rolling?”

Dean nodded, then wiped his eyes again. “Yes. Please help me. I don’t know what to do, and I’m so scared of going back to jail.”

Castiel sat down again. “Scared? You used to tell me you belonged in jail, that you wanted to be there. See? You’ve evolved already. Good.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Dean acknowledged with another sniff. “I’m such an idiot, though. Sam…he...”

“What about him?”

“I should’ve told you about this already, but I didn’t. Don’t be mad at me.”

“I won’t.”

“Chicago Symphony reached out to me and said they’d accept me as assistant concertmaster without an audition. That I could start in July. I guess they really liked the idea of having brothers in their orchestra, too.”

Castiel nodded. “I know about the offer. I also know you turned it down without considering it.”

“Of course you would know,” Dean mumbled irritably. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Say what, exactly? That your brother is toxic and I’m proud of you for not getting yourself into another situation where he can lord over you? Is that what you want to hear?”

Dean looked up in surprise. “I thought...wait, aren’t you guys friends now?”

“Are you joking? I can’t stand hearing his name. The damage he did to you-”

“Cas, _stop_. Please. He’s been nothing but supportive and encouraging since he left the tour. He’s changed, you said so yourself.”

“Fine. Doesn’t mean I have to like him. Let’s end this meeting now. I’m going to go make some calls for you while the United States is still awake. Try to get some more sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

Dean watched glumly as Castiel packed up all his stuff, then they stood up together.

“Cas? I just want you to know something, and it’s really important. I haven’t had a drink since Bangkok. Not a drop.”

“Good.”

“And...the way you handled the whole thing was...I didn’t come out of it better because of my own strength. It was because of the courage you gave me. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

Castiel’s cheeks turned a little pink. “It’s okay, Dean. We’ve had this conversation, remember?”

“I know, but..look, I’m just going to say it. Chick flick moment, okay? Bear with me. That was the first time in my entire life that someone didn’t make me feel like complete shit for failing so hard.” Dean felt emotional as he thought about their taxi ride from the jail to the hotel, and how he fell apart completely at Castiel’s gentle but firm reassurances that everything would be okay, that he wasn’t upset with him, and that this was how life went sometimes. “So you asked me why I want to work for you, or for Gabe? For one thing, he and Michael are the reason I’m still here on tour with you. Even if they were dicks to me a million times over - actually, all three of you have some serious personality issues, don’t get me wrong - but you are _really_ good, solid people who have made all the difference in my shitty life. You all believed in me when I didn’t. Most of the time. Well, guess what? I finally do believe in me. I _finally_ fucking do. I realized that when I walked away from the Chicago opportunity, even though it was the safest and easiest option. Then I realized it again in Berlin yesterday, when I stood up for myself against that unnecessary lecture and basically told them to fuck off. Me wanting to work for you isn’t a fall-back thing, it’s not a desperate last measure. It’s me needing to prove myself to you, now that I've proved me to me. I knew you were going to turn me down, and I’m okay with that. But I had to do it, and I'm glad I did. Because we're talking about us again.”

Castiel had long abandoned messing with his briefcase and jacket now, and just stood there a little slack-jawed, his face nearly unreadable.

“Anyway,” Dean said quickly, blushing a little, “Sorry I ruined this meeting.”

Castiel cleared his throat, three times. “Thank you for your kind words. And the explanation. I’m…I’m at a loss how to reply.”

Dean waved a hand. “No need. I had my say, and I understand and agree with your perspective on the whole thing. I won’t bring it up again, promise.”

“Hmmm. I’m interested in your thoughts on something before I go. Ever since the Los Angeles Philharmonic discontinued their mentorship program, I’ve been flirting with the idea of starting up my own touring orchestra to play and do clinics at public schools around Southern California, and to be hired for private events. I would need someone fairly young to be the face of the orchestra to help appeal to the young audience. Concertmaster too, even better. You’ve taught fifth graders. How about teenagers?”

Dean’s heart was in his throat. “Only in private lessons, not in the classroom. And of course all that we’ve done on this tour.”

“Which was a lot. So that should work.” Castiel was lost in thought suddenly. “Let’s do this. If you’re amenable, I’ll hire you as an hourly independent consultant to design that program in conjunction with Gabriel and my accountants. I’ll give you a probation period of...let’s say six months instead of the usual year. If all goes well and we formally hire you after that as the tour manager and concertmaster, you’d need to sign a multi-year contract and take a negotiated salary.”

“But I...” Dean croaked, wondering if his heart would ever start beating again.

“I will also require you to keep playing violin regularly before the touring begins, and during the summers. You’ll be invited to play in the arts center symphony, but don’t feel obliged. Other groups may pay better and require less of your time.”

“Sir...I’m...literally overwhelmed.”

“Don’t cry again, please.”

“Too late.” Dean took the last kleenex out of the box. “I accept. Thank you so much. I don’t know what to say.”

Castiel turned his attention back to his briefcase. “You need to promise me something before the end of this tour in four weeks, and over the four weeks afterwards.”

“Anything. Yes, sir.”

“For the next eight weeks you’re going to explore every opportunity that I send your way, and take every available audition that interests you, and you’re going to _seriously consider_ doing something else besides work for me. Because if you don’t, I’m not sure I’ll ever be convinced that I’m your best option.”

Dean nodded, but he hated this caveat. “If you insist.”

“I do. Besides, I need time to figure this all out, and I guarantee I won’t be doing anything about it until I get home. This tour takes priority. So you may as well keep looking.”

“Yes, sir.” Dean’s eyes were streaming. “I will, but I don’t want to. Um, I have to ask. Would this position be reporting to Gabriel, then?”

“No. To me directly. It’s that important.”

“And that...that doesn’t alarm you? I mean.”

“No. Not after this conversation. I still think you can do better. So try to do better. I’m going to go make some calls for you. Text me when you get your new phone so I know I can reach you.”

Just as he said that, there was a knock on the door.

“There it is, I think.”

“Good. And Dean? I emailed you about the Chicago thing two days ago. Such inattention to your inbox is already a source of great irritation for me, and will only get worse if you work for me again. So fix that.”

Dean groaned in embarrassment, but his heart still jumped a little in joy at the thought of having a Novaks Arts Center official email address. “Sorry. Will do.”

\--------------------

From: deanw@nac.org

Sent: July 5, 2019

To: cn1@nac.org

Subject: First Official Email!

Hey Cas! You’re my first email. Don’t you feel special? I’m loving this office. Never thought I’d have an office, ever. I have my own coffeemaker with all the gourmet pods, and the staff threw me a huge welcome party that Gabe and Bobby hosted. Amazing. Wish you'd been here but I hope you two are enjoying your honeymoon. Just a reminder that I’ll be gone Friday, flying to Chicago to see Sam’s first concert. Stoked!

Anyway, I gotta get to work before my boss cracks the whip. He’s kind of a dick sometimes, as you know. See you Monday!

Dean :)

\-----------------

From: cn1@nac.org

Sent: July 5, 2019

To: deanw@nac.org

Subject: RE: First Official Email!

Hello Dean. Welcome aboard. Sounds like you've partaken of the gourmet coffee already. Perhaps too much. What does "stoked" mean...?  
-Cas

  
  
  
  
  


 

_THE END...or rather, the beginning..._


End file.
